


Let the Record Drop

by BoxWineConfessions



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Ass to Mouth, Audiophile Otabek, Blow Jobs, Edging, Fluff, It's 2006 and songfic lives, Jealousy, M/M, Possessiveness, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Snapchat, The ol come over and listen to my depeche mode records trick, Top Yuri, Yuri doesn't just consent to ass to mouth he plans for it, dj otabek, fuckboi bottom otabek, just listen to violator by depeche mode while you read this if you're into that, poolside sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2018-09-23 19:51:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9673511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxWineConfessions/pseuds/BoxWineConfessions
Summary: A collection of PWP oneshots loosley based around the idea of DJ-Otabek.Ch 8: Otabek isn’t quite sure what to do with Yuri after Barcelona. He’s never slept with the same person twice, and usually if they cry he asks them to leave. He doesn’t order them diet cherry coke from room service, or dry his tears with his Fendi pocket square.





	1. Blue Dress

**Author's Note:**

  * For [voslen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voslen/gifts), [Muspell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muspell/gifts), [dracorys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracorys/gifts).



Otabek lives on the nineteenth floor.

But he parks the bike in the sub basement, which means they have to climb up the steps to get to the lobby elevator first.

It might as well be up on the goddamn fucking moon when Otabek’s doing everything in his power to delay the process. Otabek’s got his fingers threaded into Yuri’s beltloop and tugs him close so that their hips knock awkwardly together as they walk.

On the first landing, Otabek pushes him into the railing and pulls him into a kiss. It’s the kind that make his knees go weak, and forces Otabek to hold him up. The kind that melts through his clothes and sets the skin on his body aflame even through it’s only their mouths that are truly joined.

On the second landing, Otabek does it again. Pins him and worries a purple mark on his shoulder.

“Ugh, it’s no fucking fair, I wanted to see you _actually_ perform.” Yuri sulks. But Kazhakstan remains one of the few places in the world where the drinking age is twenty-one. Yuri will turn nineteen in March, and so he’s still several years off.

“It’s not a big deal,” Otabek surmises. “You wouldn’t have actually _seen_ me really.”

Yuri doesn’t respond. He knows that Otabek is one of those secretive types. “I could’ve danced though,” Yuri huffs. “I would’ve danced. Danced my ass off.”

 “I don’t want you dancing,” Otabek says in a stern voice. “Without me around,” but he quickly abandons the topic to go back to Yuri’s neck.

Yuri snorts. Playfully, he slaps Otabek on the shoulder. “I didn’t take you for the jealous type Altin.”

Otabek’s hands snake under their jacket and are splayed out across his back. Yuri’s shocked that he’s opted for something so tame. He fully expected Otabek to have two hands full of ass by now, as that’s what usually happens when they get any amount of time alone together.

“Well I am, and-“ Otabek insists between kisses, “this will be better.”

Yuri cocks a raised brow at his partner. “Will it? I don’t know if we’re going to get upstairs at this rate.”

“It will be.” Otabek tilts his chin upward and captures his mouth once more. “I promise.” And as soon as the contact between them was initiated, it’s gone. Otabek’s all but dragging him the rest of the way up the steps to the elevator.

“Hurry the fuck up then,” Yuri says through gritted teeth as Otabek fumbles for the card key which activates the elevator.

The apartment is modern, luxe, and one of the most expensive in the city. So, Yuri can’t decide if it’s “aesthetic,” or what, but there’s a goddamn mirror on the ceiling in the elevator. He watches with wide eyed and undivided attention as Otabek palms him through his jeans in the mirror. That is, until he elbows Otabek in the ribs to get his attention. “Hey look.”

Otabek’s eyes shift upward to the mirror. He catches sight of his own hand on Yuri’s crotch. “Wow.” He dips his hand underneath Yuri’s jeggings. “You’re really pretty Yuri.” Otabek says without looking away from their reflection.

“You’re fucking evil Beka,” Yuri purrs into Otabek.

All too soon the elevator dings indicating they’re on Otabek’s floor. In the scant seconds between Otabek extracting his hand from Yuri’s pants, and when they cross the threshold into Otabek’s apartment, the intensity is gone. Otabek takes great care to remove his shoes, and get himself a glass of water. “Would you like something?”

Yuri rolls his eyes. “Yeah, do you have any fucking crisps? I’m a little peckish.”

Otabek shrugs as if it were a normal thing to ask right after mauling your boyfriend in the elevator. He moves back to the refrigerator and pours Yuri a glass of water from the large filtered pitcher he keeps on the bottom shelf above the crisper.

Yuri accepts the glass, and then lets Otabek take him by the hand. The feeling of Otabek’s half gloves are rough against his own bare hands.

The main feature of Otabek’s apartment is the living room. It’s got a giant glass window which shows Almaty’s sprawling skyline in glittering neon jewel tones. In the distance, Yuri can see the precision pin stripe lighting of Almatay  towers. If you turn your head and squint just right, you can see the blue lit dome of the Royal Tulip Hotel. There’s a copy of the Eiffel Tower too, and that can also be seen from the apartment.

Yuri knows that Otabek is cool personified. Otabek is suave wrapped in smooth, and an added dash of polish. Yuri’s been painfully aware of this ever since they met in Barcelona. It’s only been continually solidified over the past two a half years. It’s the reason Otabek fucking Altin doesn’t have to have a sofa in front of his giant fucking two grand a month window.

Instead, Otabek has a giant fucking daybed in front of the window, complete with a little low headboard and everything.

“How many people have you done this for?” Yuri asks while Otabek guides him down to the cushion.  He doesn’t particularly care about the answer, unless it happens to be a lot. 

“None.” The way Otabek says it. Slowly, deliberately, while maintaining eye contact with Yuri the whole time…Yuri believes he’s being honest. “I sleep out here sometimes though.”

Yuri arranges himself on the day bed. Sprawls out wide across it and throws his head back on the pillows.

Otabek’s gaze is sharp, focused, almost predatory, if Yuri didn’t want every bit of it’s intensity and fire.

“You sleep out here?” Yuri scoffs. “Why the fuck are you so cute?”

 Otabek breaks their gaze finally, but Yuri doesn’t miss the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. Instead, Otabek moves to the sound system. Yuri watches with rapt fascination as he fiddles with the dials and the knobs. Then, he moves one of the giant shelves that touch almost floor to ceiling against every wall in the living room that is not _the window._ Otabek thumbs through the records, and selects one with a black cover and a bright red and white flower design on the cover. Otabek places the album on the turn table, and carefully puts the cover back on the shelf.

He grabs for a very large and very expensive looking pair of headphones. He holds one earpiece to the shell of his ear and listens intently for a few seconds.  Otabek adjusts several more knobs on the sound system. His brows are furrowed deep in concentration, and Yuri tries his hardest not to giggle as he watches.

“You can take your clothes off if you want,” Otabek says it like he’s told him something banal, like the time, or the temperature outside.

“Uh-“ Yuri’s throat feels dry. “Yeah, I guess that would be good right?”

Otabek nods.

Yuri peels off his shirt first. It’s his favorite blue velvet crop top. Then, he goes for his faux leather jeggings. The one that Otabek had palming him through moments ago.

“Okay,” Otabek walks back over to the daybed, and kneels beside Yuri. Carefully, Otabek combs Yuri’s hair back and away from his ears. “No one’s ever gotten a private show before.” His voice wavers as he talks. Like he thought it sounded cool and second guessed himself while he spoke.

Otabek opts to interrupt himself, and kiss Yuri instead. It’s not like their previous touches. It’s thick and stifling, and Yuri’s painfully aware that he’s very naked, and Otabek is very not.

“I hope you like it,” Otabek breathes against his ear.

It makes Yuri shiver, and arch up into the other man. Otabek slips the headphones over Yuri’s ears.

Otabek splays his hand across Yuri’s bare chest. The touch is feather soft, yet to Yuri it feels heavy handed. It crushes him into futon in a way never thought possible.  

The music is low, slow, and industrial sounding. The chords meander up and down and up and down alongside the base.

The first song is overtly sexual. _World in my Eyes_ seems to hold all of the promises of what is to come next. Yet, for the first few songs, Otabek doesn’t do much more than kiss him and let him get used to the feeling of his hands at his side, and his hip. He runs eager, but controlled fingers down his shoulder and into the crook of his arm and back again. The motions are repetitious, and soothing, much like the second track.

Then the music ramps up.

Otabek’s tongue is everywhere. The crook of his neck, his collar bones, and his chest. Otabek laps at his nipples until they feel puffy and red and overexposed. Otabek’s mouth leaves his nipples, and go lower.

Yuri can’t stop himself, his hands fly up to cover himself.

The track changes.

_There's a pain_

_A famine in your heart_

“Yuri.” Yuri doesn’t so much hear Otabek speak as he _feels_ Otabek move up his body and move his face close to his. He can see his mouth move in the short quick syllables of his name. “Let me see you.” Otabek’s mouth moves slowly so he can read his lips.

“Okay,” Yuri feels his mouth move and his throat constrict.

Otabek goes back to winding him up and causing his undoing. He laps at the lines of his abdominal muscles, and spends extra time at the crest of his hips.

_An aching to be free_

_Can't you see_

 

Yuri feels hot puffs of breath against his length. For a moment he unscrews his eyes and looks down between his legs. In that moment, Otabek locks gaze with him, and laps experimentally at the tip.

 

Yuri sucks his bottom lip in-between his teeth and gasps.

 

_All love's luxuries_

_Are here for you and me_

As soon as the experimental kisses and licks at the tip begin, they seem to fade. Otabek breaks their gaze and looks to the timer on the sound system.

 

Where the last was upbeat, this track is much slower, subdued and ethereal. Soft electronic beeps work their way into his brain. Yuri can’t even seem to care that the contact, wet and hot and immediate is gone.

 

_And when I squinted_

_The world seemed rose-tinted_

 

Otabek kisses against his thighs. Then, his mouth goes to his sac. He lavishes Yuri with his tongue, and then tests the weight of them in the palm of his hand. Presses against his perineum with his fingertips, and there’s the promise of something there. Something that makes his vision tunnel. Makes him see flashes when he closes his eyes.

 

_And angels appeared to descend_

_To my surprise_

_With half-closed eyes_

 

Yuri wonders. Does he know? Does he know that he’s that good. He has to know. Yuri’s been played like a goddamn sampler since they entered the apartment and loved every second of it. But the question remains. How can _anyone_ be that good?

 

_Things looked even better_

_Than when they were opened_

 

Otabek returns to his cock with newfound interest and enthusiasm. He licks a stripe from the base to the tip and then from tip to base. Otabek’s grasp around the base of his cock is firm, but not overbearing. He uses the control to guide Yuri into his mouth.

 

Yuri can feel a giggle rise up in his chest. The track has changed again. It’s faster, and upbeat and its’ funny because the lyrics are telling him to enjoy the silence but he can’t stop writhing and moaning and making all sorts of noises that he has to assume are god awful.

 

Is Otabek making embarrassing, but sexy little slurping noises while he bobs up and down on his cock? He must be. Yuri can feel the way his lips slip and slide down his length. He can see how he puckers and releases his mouth against the head.

 

The display _feels_ amazing, but makes it all very hard to believe that Otabek’s _never_ spun and scratched like this before.

 

Otabek’s mouth leaves him once again, but Otabek’s hand is there in the interim. Otabek strokes softly, but lets his nails drag slightly. Yuri wants to come. He can feel the headphones being pulled away from his ear. “This one’s my favorite song Yuri,” Otabek’s voice is husky and raw. Otabek leans up to kiss him. Yuri can taste himself on Otabek, and that alone makes him feel drunk. “Can I make you come to my favorite song?”

 

Yuri wants to let him know how fucking cheesy it is, but the words shrivel up and dry on his tongue. He settles for a nod instead.

 

The song begins with high pitched notes that echo and flit against the bassline. Combined they sound extended and extruded. Against the warm wet feeling of Otabek’s mouth, it sends chills down his spine. The singer’s voice is softer again.

 

_Put it on_

_And don't say a word_

_Put it on_

_The one that I prefer_

 

Otabek’s movements match the softness of the song  with slow and gentle movements that take him in almost completely. It’s not how he imagined it at all.

 

_Something so simple_

_Something so trivial_

Once again there’s something eerie in the way the lyrics match reality. Yuri can feel Otabek smile against his length. There’s something in his eyes that’s so warm and so genuine, like sucking Yuri off is the only thing he wanted to do tonight.

 

_Makes me a happy man_

_Can't you understand_

 

When Yuri jerks off it’s quick and it’s frantic and it doesn’t so much build up as it just happens. Now, Yuri is acutely aware of a tight coiling and uncoiling in his gut. He feels uncomfortably warm, and he knows he shouldn’t arch his back off the mattress like that, because Otabek can’t quite take all of him in.

 

_Say you believe_

_Just how easy_

_It is to please me_

“Otabek,” Yuri reaches for his partner. Yuri tries to warn him, but ends up threading his fingers into Otabek’s thick black hair instead. He can’t think beyond anything other than Otabek, and Otabek’s mouth.

Yuri feels his own cock twitch as he comes in Otabek’s mouth. He can’t help but feel a strange combination of shame-pride-lust when Otabek swallows without question.

 

_Because when you learn_

_You'll know what makes the world turn_

 

Otabek moves up his body, grabs onto either side of his face, and kisses him deeply. Kisses him like they haven’t made it out of the parking lot and Yuri’s still grinding against Otabek’s thigh. Cautiously, he peels the headphones away from Yuri. “Did you like it?”

 

Yuri interlaces his fingers with his. Yuri can’t respond right away. His body screams for more air in that strange mixture of exhaustion and adrenaline that he gets when he finishes a program. So he simply nods.  Then, he finally manages to choke out, “Yeah.” Yuri’s eyes travel downward. He can feel Otabek pressed against his thigh through his jeans. It’s strange to have him so close, and to _still_ be so naked, and him _still_ be so clothed.  

 

At the very least, it’s somewhat comforting to know that Otabek is fallible, human, and has wants and needs too. “Can I do it to you too?”

 

Otabek’s eyes widen a bit, and light up. Like he hadn’t considered it, or for some stupid reason didn’t think that Yuri would want to. “Do you want to pick an album?”

 

“I want you to talk to me. While I’m doing it.” Yuri grimaces as soon as he makes the statement. There’s a lot embedded there that wasn’t said out loud. “Can we use the sound system I mean?”

 

“Of course.” Together they go over to Otabek’s shelves. Otabek disconnects the headphones. Yuri thumbs through the albums at eye level. There’s so much. Too much. He’ll never accomplish anything by browsing other than giving Otabek blue balls.

 

“Got any metal?”

 

Otabek directs him to a shelf on the far edge of the room. “This shelf,” he touches one that Yuri could only reach if he stood on his tip toes. “This one too,” his fingers brush the one below. “And this one.”

 

“Oh fuck,” Yuri exhales.

 

Otabek’s smirk makes him acutely aware of the fact that he’s still naked. Still naked, still eighteen, and very into Otabek. Makes his cock twitch in ways that make him forget he just came. “That’s the plan right?”


	2. Cream

It’s not unusual for Otabek to contact him while he’s on break, or for Yuri to do the same. They more or less know one another’s schedules, and capitalize on time wherever they can find it. Otabek sends him a Snapchat at 10:30 in the goddamn morning which meant it was afternoon in Almaty. The caption was simple, “Off Ice Training”.

Yuri looks at the timer in the corner of the screen. One hundred twenty seconds, which for Otabek is probably some kind of record. This probably means that there are several snaps strung together.

  
There’s music first of course, a rough series of guitar riffs that command attention. Otabek sets the scene. The sun pours in through the giant living room window so that it looks like he’s glowing. Otabek’s wearing his long sleeved oversized Versace t-shirt. He can see the way it puffs around his shoulders and hangs loose at the neck. It means that Otabek got the air conditioner in his apartment on full blast. Means that his skin is probably dappled with gooseflesh that’s just begging to be kissed away. He’s also got that stupid snap back hat on. The $300 piece of Gucci trash that Yuri despises. It’s backwards of course.

And nothing else.

There’s a still image. Otabek’s got the sweater pulled up high over the crest of his hips. He’s holding it taut with his mouth. His legs are jutting out awkwardly, the way they do when you try to include most of your body in a selfie angle shot. Otabek’s cock is hard, leaking, and untouched.

Another video snap. The scales meander back and forth, up and down, and Otabek peels the sweater off and the camera shakes with the movement. He runs his fingertips over his exposed skin. Yuri’s view is of little more than luxe skin and silken body hair.

 _I knew a girl named Nikki_  
_I guess you could say she was a sex fiend_  
_I met her in a hotel lobby_

Yuri almost rips a fucking earbud out in shock, but stuffs it back in immediately. Otabek always fucking picks songs with some kind of meaning. Because he’s an asshole. A brat that likes to fuck with him across international borders.

 _Masturbating with a magazine_  
_She said how'd you like to waste some time_  
_And I could not resist when I saw little Nikki grind_

Yuri can feel his eyes go wide. Watches the phone shake in his unsteady grasp.

The camera pans back up to Otabek’s face for a split second. “Yuri look.”

How could Yuri dare tear his eyes away?

There’s an awkward shuffling of the camera, and then Otabek pushing the cleft of his ass open with his fingers, and.

Fuck.

Otabek definitely had something inside. Round and fuchsia pink and flared at the base. It didn’t look like it was much larger than a few of Yuri’s fingers pushed close together, and yet Otabek looked as if he were already stretched so impossibly tight.

The video ends and the next auto plays. The music is the same as before, guttural guitar that reaches and takes.

  
_She took me to her castle_  
_And I just couldn't believe my eyes_  
_She had so many devices_

The camera pans downward. Yuri honestly should’ve known what to expect. Upon the furniture rests another toy. It’s day glow blue. Thicker than the last one, about as long as his own cock.

 _Everything that money could buy_  
_She said sign your name on the dotted line_  
_The lights went out_  
_And Nikki started to grind_

The next snap plays. Otabek’s eyes are blown wide. He’s very shirtless now, but he’s still got the stupid snapback on. The skin on his chest and his cheeks are flushed and tinged red in a way that Yuri’s never seen before. “It feels really good Yuri.”

Otabek puts the pad of his index finger against his lips and pushes it inside. Otabek opens his mouth wider, and a second finger slips in.  
“Yuri I need you.”  

  
New snap.

  
Same song. Different verse. Different location. Yuri would recognize the charcoal of Otabek’s bedspread anywhere. The sight of the gray sheets beneath Otabek’s bare skin instantly cause the hair on the back of his neck to stand up. He’s loved every minute trapped between those sheets.

 _The castle started spinning_  
_Or maybe it was my brain_  
_I can't tell you what she did to me_  
_But my body will never be the same_

This toy was longer and thicker than the last. More obnoxious in color too, a sick bright purple that looked like the same shade as grape flavored candy.  
Otabek’s got his phone propped against something. The motions are erratic as he moves back and forth to record his actions and to work the toy inside of him. He’s facing turned away from the camera this time. So Yuri can see him work it in.

  
Inch.  
By inch.  
By inch.  
Until it’s inside.

  
There’s one final still image and caption, “call me.”

  
By some goddamn miracle Yuri remembers to throw on his skate guards before tearing off towards the locker room in awkward toe to heel steps that only happens when you walk on skates in a way that is both careless and breakneck.

  
Yuri slams the bathroom door shut and leans against it with the entirety of his body weight. The rink is near empty, but so help him. He won’t be disturbed.  
Otabek answers on the first ring.

“Is it still?” Yuri doesn’t even fuck around with a “hello”. They’re a little bit past that now.

“Yeah,” Otabek’s voice hitches as he tries to choke out the single syllable. Yuri can hear the next track on the album in the background. More heavy guitar, a steady drum machine, and a low moan.

“You wish it was me?” Yuri finds it much easier to be bold whenever they’re apart. It’s a shame really. That he can only hold his own when there’s miles between them, and melts in Otabek’s hands when they’re face to face.

“Yeah,” and then there’s a stutter on the line. A gasping pained moan that reminds Yuri that if he was half hard before, he’s straining against his sweats now.

“I had no idea you fucking wanted me like that Altin,” Yuri tries to sound coy, detached as he scoffs into the receiver, but he’s totally palming his dick through his sweats.

“I wanna do everything with you.” There’s another gasp into the receiver.

“How does it feel?” Yuri peels his pants down awkwardly as he tries to cradle the phone against his shoulder and his cheek. Why the fuck aren’t they Facetiming? Yuri suspects that the answer lies within the deafening sound of Otabek’s heavy breathing. It’s another power play.

“Full. Tight.”

“Oh god.” Yuri’s movements against his length are long and awkward.

“Not as good as you would.” Yuri would find it hard that these words were pouring out of Otabek’s mouth save for the terseness, the conciseness. As if he really had considered his options and described the toy as if he’d just made the decision. “I can’t,” There’s a pause in the talk but no discernable hitch of breath or sigh into the receiver.

Yuri wonders if he’s doing that thing. That thing that he does when he’s flustered and can’t force the words to come to the surface. Where he worries his bottom lip against his teeth. That thing that drives Yuri wild. The image of which makes him move his own hand faster in the absence of Otabek.

“Cause I can’t feel you twitch. You can’t hold my hips down while you fuck me.”

Yuri’s heart skips a beat. How would Otabek’s hips look if they were spotted with little purple red finger print shaped bruises? Yuri wants to tell Otabek that. Tell him that the next time he sees him he’s going to do just that. Hold him down and fuck him until his hips are colored and bruised.

In reality all he can do is stroke himself and be captivated. Because Otabek is that fucking good.

“Can’t feel you come inside.”

Oh god. It all comes together in a split second of unbridled passion. The jerk of his hand against his skin, the sound of Otabek panting into the receiver, the mere notion of seeing Otabek’s hole stretched and leaking his come.

Yuri spills in his hand in a strangled cry.

There’s more breathing over the line while he comes back to reality. Thick and hot. “Did you come?”

“Yeah-“ Into his hand, sticky and gross.

Otabek interrupts him before he can keep going. “But that is one good thing,” he says it almost offhandedly. Yuri, brain addled with the kind of static that happens in his brain only after he comes, and the addictive sound of Otabek’s rapid breathing. “I can use this as long as I want. All night even.” Otabek’s voice becomes more confidant. “With you, I’d have to wait for you to get hard again.”

“What?” Yuri can feel the corner of his mouth curl into a snarl.

“With this, I can just keep going.”

The line goes dead.

“You’re not even going to let me hear you come?” Yuri pounds out a furious text.

Yuri waits scant seconds for Otabek to respond. Waits even for the flutter of blinking dots in a gray bubble across the screen. When they don’t show up instantaneously, Yuri chucks his phone against the bathroom wall.

It smacks against the gray green grouted tiles of the wall, and bounces in it’s case against the floor.

Brat.

Yakov used to call him a brat. It got under his skin like no other insult. Meant that he was not only childish, but spoiled. It insinuated that he did not work for everything he ever got. Which was quite frankly untrue. Even when he hated practice he still showed. It implied that he was brash and impulsive in a way that could not be graceful or eloquent on the ice.

Of course the insult changed over time. “You’re a brat.” Or, “You’re an insufferable brat,” or the one that Yuri found to be the most rich, was, “Yuri you’re the biggest brat on the goddamn ice.” Which might’ve been true, until he understood how much of a brat Otabek Altin was. If Otabek was a menace on the ice, he was an absolute terror in the sheets, and Yuri was fucking doomed the moment Otabek slipped the pair of headphones over his ears all those months ago in Almaty.

That’s the only fucking word for it. Otabek Altin is a fucking brat.

Yuri gets another snapchat later on in the day. Yuri almost doesn’t look at it when he takes his late afternoon break, but he can’t fucking help himself. If worst comes to worst, he’ll force himself to think about icy cold Moscow winters, and the top of Yakov’s bald head, and seeing Viktor in his chemical peel face mask, and all sorts of other unsexy things so that he can go back out on the ice and be worth a goddamn.

The caption reads, “Back to work.” Someone else is holding Otabek’s phone. He’s doing a neat and tidy camel spin out on the ice.

Yuri's mouth goes dry. His mind wanders. Did Otabek put the little toy back in before he went back to practice? Could he feel the excess lube trickle out and slide down his thigh when he got back out on the ice? Yuri tries to type out a response. He types and deletes. Types and deletes over and over again with wide eyes and a clenched jaw, and a cold sweat that drips down his back. Types and deletes until Yakov is purple faced and yelling at him to get back onto the ice.

“I see you typing Yuri.” Yuri sees the push notification before his phone vibrates.

“I liked you better before you started using social media.”

“I did it for you Yuri.”

There’s even more ambiguity there in that sentence. One that makes him curse Otabek’s name to filth for the second time that day.

 

* * *

 

“Are you gonna fucking behave?” Yuri growls from the corner of his mouth, and prays to god above that his voice doesn’t crack. Cause if any of this is going work, he’s got to take control immediately. Or else Otabek’s going to play him like one of the many finely tuned instruments he has scattered about his apartment.

  
Too fucking late. Before he can pull out, Otabek’s fucking whimpering around his cock, and god damn it does he look so fucking pretty with his mouth full of dick like that. Cheek bulging, tears at the corners of his eyes, face flushed.

Yuri grabs his dick by the base and pulls out. Watches with rapt fascination as a thin silver trail of saliva connects Otabek’s tongue to his cock.

  
Yuri considers his options. He could keep pumping his hand and come on Otabek’s face right now. He’d deserve it after all those goddamn snaps. Or, Yuri could continue. Give Otabek what they both really wanted…

  
“For you Yuri?” Otabek smirks. The sight of his dimples makes Yuri melt. Makes him really look like the nice respectable young man that the press, and his family, and Viktor and Yuri think he is. “I can be good.” Otabek punctuates his statement by lapping at the tip of Yuri’s cock once more. Rubs it against his silken lips like chap stick.

  
Yuri replaces his dick with his middle and index finger, and Otabek accepts them immediately. Yuri needs a minute. Calm down. Stop thinking with his dick for one fucking seconds, cause if he can manage that it’ll pay off in spades. “Put on a record for us Beka.”

  
Otabek grabs Yuri’s hands on either side and pulls his fingers out with a slippery pop. “I thought you’d never ask Yura.” Yuri watches him walk away, catches sight of the pink plug that he’d worked into Otabek earlier bob and wriggle as he walks.

  
Otabek goes for a specific shelf, and reaches for a certain album without so much as looking. Yuri had hoped to use the time to gather his thoughts and think about how to make Otabek really sweat. Maybe he’s made a mistake.

Yuri watches the turntable spin.

  
There’s a hundred thousand different ways they can get there, but there’s only one way either of them want the night to end. With Otabek taking his cock.

Yuri watches the needle drop. 

  
“Can I ride you?” Very Otabek, calm, collected, like an afterthought.

  
In that moment, Yuri knows that he’s not just in too deep. He’s fucking gone. Never had a fucking chance. He’s fucked. So fucking fucked even though Otabek’s going to be the one taking his cock to night. From the moment he opened that goddamn snap there was no chance in hell he was ever gonna be able to wrestle control away from him.

  
But when it was this good, why would he even want to?

  
The song opens with low moans, and then melts into a strangely upbeat tune. Yuri’s pretty sure he stammers out a response to Otabek’s question.

  
_This is it_  
_It's time for you to go to the wire_  
_You will hit_  
_'Cause you got the burnin' desire_

  
Otabek removes the toy and straddles his lap. Makes a big show of gripping his dick by the base, and sinking down impossibly slowly. Inch, by inch, by inch until Otabek’s sitting in his lap.  
“Oh, fuck Beka”

 _It's your time (Time)_  
_You got the horn so why don't you blow it_  
_You are fine (Fine)_  
_You're filthy cute and baby you know it_

  
Yuri reaches for Otabek’s long neglected cock. He palms at the head and spreads around the pearly beads of pre-come that have gathered there. “You said you were going to be good.”

Otabek leans forward and pulls out ever so slightly. Then bounces down, and then up again making Yuri feel dizzy. Otabek plants a quick smack to his lips. “Isn’t this good?”

  
Yuri grabs Otabek’s hips and thrusts his hips upward. The motion catches Otabek off guard, and Yuri swears to god he can see Otabek’s eyes roll back in his head. “Yeah,” Yuri moans. “Really good,” continues to work his hips up into Otabek’s tight warm heat.

  
_Cream_  
_Get on top_  
_Cream_  
_You will cop_  
_Cream_  
_Don't you stop_  
_Cream_  
_Sh-boogie bop_

  
They fall into some sort of coordinated rhythm. Yuri thrusts up when Otabek slides down. Otabek lets Yuri tweak his nipples until they’re dark red and puffy with overstimulation. Otabek lets Yuri slap his hand away from his cock when he tries to stroke it in the absence of Yuri’s hand.

  
Otabek alternates between holding him deep inside and rocking grinding his hips, and using his athletic build to its fullest riding Yuri hard. Almost pulling off and sinking back down and doing it all over again before Yuri can so much as catch his breath.

  
_Do your dance_  
_Why should you wait any longer?_  
_Take a chance_  
_It could only make you stronger_

“Beka,” Yuri buries his nails into Otabek’s hips. Scrambles for purchase and friction on the slick fabric of the duvet. “Beka.” He can’t fucking keep up with this. Has tried rotating through all the unsexy things he thinks of to stave off orgasm. Tried screwing his eyes shut, but all that does is make him focus on the throaty little responses that Otabek gives so freely.

“Yuri, you feel so good. Yuri, right there.”

 _It's your time (It's your time)_  
_You got the horn so why don't you blow it (Go on and blow it)_  
_You're so fine (you're so fine)_  
_You're filthy cute and baby you know it (You know it)_

“Oh god, Beka fuck.” In a stream of unbalanced and graceless movements, Yuri moves to a sitting position, and then pushes Otabek onto his back. Yuri’s supports more of his body weight than he probably should with his hands splayed across Otabek’s chest.

Yuri bites his lip until the skin burns, and he’s deafened by the slick sound of his body pounding into Otabek’s over and over and over again. Yuri comes with an unceremonious jerk of his hips and a moan that sounds more like a sob.

Just when he thinks Otabek’s gonna let him catch his fucking breath, Otabek fucking wrecks him again without even trying. With Otabek’s legs up in the air in this hastily thrown onto his back position, Yuri can see Otabek’s stretched hole.

Yuri pulls out slowly, and oh god, Otabek’s leaking. Leaking his come, from where he’s so warm, and so wet and so fucked.

Of course Otabek doesn’t miss a beat. “That all you got Plisetsky cause,” Otabek’s gaze darts to his still hard cock.

It’s gonna take a minute for Yuri to be ready to go again. He’s fast, not magic. But Otabek’s given him a lot of fucking options. There’s of course the plug from beforehand on the night stand. Not to mention all the other little toys that got scattered about while Otabek was simply trying to open his little box of toys, and Yuri was deadest on mauling his boyfriend.

Yuri reaches around in the pillows and the covers for what he’s looking for. The purple one. The big one. The one that Otabek has no problem reminding him that he can fuck for as long as he wants whenever he wants.

 _Cream_  
_Get on top_  
_Cream_  
_You will cop_  
_Cream_  
_Don't you ever stop_  
_Cream_

“Not a fucking chance Altin,” Yuri leans down. Presses the toy against Otabek’s hole and smirks into his boyfriend’s thigh. “We can use this, until I’m ready to go again. That is okay right?” Yuri asks, like it’s an afterthought. Tries to hide the lilt in his voice, cause he fucking knows that Otabek thinks that he’s won.

Yuri takes his finger and his thumb and pinches it in a tight ring around the base of Otabek’s cock.

“Beka?” This is all so much easier when he’s already come. Doesn’t understand how Otabek can tease while he’s hard and straining, but now? Yuri feels like he can wait all night. Make Otabek wait too. “ You can wait to come until I get hard again?”

Otabek fucking _whines_.

“Right?” Yuri slides the toy inside in one fluid motion. “Or is this all you got Altin?”

 


	3. Welcome to the Madness

On principle alone Yuri Plisetsky did not believe in luck. Good fortune, whether it was in the form of gold medals, or lucrative endorsements, or breaking world records, was the result of hard fucking work and little else. Yuri didn’t believe in luck, even when it came down to the fact that he and Otabek met by chance, and were seemingly reunited by fate. Yuri didn’t believe in luck because although circumstance may have aided in Otabek falling for him, Yuri fucking worked to keep him. It was hard fucking work stretching his ass out with toys just so Otabek could take him with minimal prep work after a long night of dancing. It was hard work to cram himself into tiny little pairs of lace underwear only so Otabek could rip them off. It was hard fucking work to get on his knees after a long grueling day of practice and suck Otabek off with a cocky smile, but goddamn was it worth it.

But maybe, just maybe, for tonight and tonight only, Yuri believes in luck. Cause, Yuri sure as fuck feels lucky. Otabek doesn’t do that many public shows. In any given season he does somewhere between four and a half dozen, and most of those are concentrated on the off season between early April and August. But tonight, Otabek is making a very special appearance, for no reason other than that it’s Yuri’s birthday.

Yuri walked into the club _alone_. Granted, just an hour or so before he’d been sipping cocktails at the bar with Victor and Yuuri while Otabek went and did whatever it was that DJs do before a show. Put on their headphones and press buttons, Yuri supposes. His face was flush with alcohol, and his platform shoes felt as if they were a size too large and felt clunky on his feet. Somehow, he managed, and he insisted that he enter the club alone. As such, he sent Victor and Yuri over to the club before he left the bar. He took the time to have another cocktail. A nice one with pop rocks on the rim and a cloud of cotton candy sunk into the alcohol. The kind that Yakov would yell at him for drinking.

LIke a scene out of the goddamn movies, the bouncer holds the door to the club open for Yuri. Of course they fucking know who he is. He made sure to snag the VIP area for himself. Yuri parts the throngs of club goers too as he approaches the VIP area sectioned off near the DJ booth. It’s easy to do when you look this fucking good. Yuri’s got his favorite platform shoes on, heeled lace up oxfords laden with glitter. Otabek fucking bought them for him when they were in New York. He’s also wearing his leather jacket and a long sleeve pink fishnet shirt. Oh, and how could he forget the pants that he’d bought in Amsterdam? Victor described them as, “regrettable,” and so he fucking had to.

He’s lucky cause Otabek played him the perfect fucking entrance. If you’d asked him two cocktails ago if walking into one of his old exhibition skates was gonna be cool or if it was gonna be lame, he’ would’ve said lame. Now, it’s cool. Very fucking cool. As soon as he walks toward the booth the rough riffs of the guitar shake him to the very core. Yuri can feel the teeth in his mouth clank against one another due to the vibration. Cue the high pitched wail, and Yuri enters the area where Victor, Yuuri, that hag Mila, and several others await.

Yuri straight up fucking ignore the patronizing cheers from his friends. He doesn’t fucking need any of that. Yuri enters the VIP area and makes sure to turn his head just right, at just the right speed so that his hair shakes out around his face dramatically.

Yuri makes sure to lock eyes with the only person he gives a fuck about in the club right now. Otabek’s got one ear pressed into his headphones. The other is tending to the buttons on his sampler. Yuri can see the multicolored buttons from here. It’s the big one that he pre-programs for hours, and hours, and hours just to take his mind off of routines. Yuri can see the sheen of sweat on Otabek’s brow. It is really fucking hot in here. His jaw is clenched tight, and the moment their eyes meet, it feels like the entire club empties the fuck out. Like even though they’re not touching, they might as well be fucking.

At the very least, that’s what his goddamn dick tells him it feels like.

_Welcome to the madness._

Did he mention that it was fucking hot in the club? Yuri hastily peels away the leather jacket he’d had on over his fishnet top. That was better, at least the top let him fucking breathe.

_Can you hear them scream?_

Yuri doesn’t quite know what to do next. He feels the intense weight of every eye in the room on him. At this rate, he can’t just grab a seat at the bar next to Victor and Yuri and demand a cocktail. Nor can simply sidle up to Mila and her boyfriend and tell her boyfriend to get fucking lost. Like it or not between the booze, and the heat, and the electric magnetic pull of Otabek’s powers, he’s started a performance. He’s got to finish the show.

_This world is cold and cruel_

Yuri takes a few strides towards Katsudon. Why the fuck not? Yuuri was safe. He’d seen him naked countless times. He was happily married, so there was no fucking way he was going to pop a boner or anything gross like that.

_from the hell_

Another sharp riff of the guitar, and Yuri just fucking goes for it. He rips the sunglasses off of the bridge of his nose and presses them to Victor’s face in one fluid motion. He hopes it looks cool. It’s a goddamn miracle he didn’t poke his fucking eye out.

_with endless dream_

Yuri turns to Yuuri. He’s not wide eyed and nervous like Yuri would expect. His eyes contain that kind of knowing, and heat charged energy that Yuri fucking hates, and loves to hate. Yuri raises a platform shoe clad foot high up on Yuri’s shoulder and presses into the other man. This will get Otabek going for sure.

It only dawns on him with his leg up in the air and the crotch of his skin tight jeans riding up his junk does he realize that this is eerily similar to his and Otabek’s favorite sex position. And he just happens to be doing it to a man that wasn’t Otabek.

Yuri can feel his chest tighten, but he dare not fucking remove his leg. No matter how wide Katsudon’s eyes are, no matter how the hair stands on the back of his neck and no matter how badly he might of fucked up he’s seeing this one through. Cause he’s already fucked up. Otabek’s already gonna give it to him harder and rougher than he can possibly fucking imagine. Why not make it worth his while?

_This world is cold and madness_

* * *

 

Otabek’s mouth didn’t leave him the entire cab ride back to the hotel. Yuri doesn’t have to look at his neck, and his collarbones, and....God, even his fucking chest, to know that they’re all kinds of shades of blue, purple, black and red.

Otabek finds one particular place that he’d fixated on for the bulk of the ride. It throbs whenever Otabek’s mouth leaves, except for right now when it burns and it stings. Otabek’s teeth sink into the soft and abused flesh of his neck and Yuri slaps him on the shoulder lightly. It’s too fucking much. “You’re being a fucking asshole.”

“Bout to fuck one,” Otabek responds in a non-committal tone, and Yuri can feel him smirk into his skin. The choice of wording there suggests that Otabek isn’t just referring to the sex they’re about to have. Otabek wants to make it known that Yuri, is in fact an asshole too. Otabek wants to make it known that apparently grinding up against your married friend is not acceptable.

Yuri wants to smack the smug expression right off his face. If he hadn’t worked so fucking hard to get this exact reaction, he’d at least kick Otabek away from him and leave him with blue balls.

Otabek’s hands leave his sides, and grab him up by the collar. Yuri lurches a half-step forward into Otabek’s chest. Then, there’s the sound of cloth ripping, slow at first as Otabek tears through the thin collar, and then rapid fast as he makes quick work of the shirt and splits it down the middle. “A tight, pretty pink one,” Otabek notes as he pushes the pink shirt away from Yuri’s chest.

Otabek presses him against the wall, and Yuri’s bare skin meets cool glass. Otabek made sure to get the most over the top honeymoon suite for his birthday. The entire wall across from the bed is a mirror. They can see everything in the room. Otabek latches onto Yuri’s right nipple, and Yuri ruts against Otabek’s pants at the mere thought that Otabek will treat his nipples in the same way that he’s abused his neck.

“Fucking-ah-listen to yourself.” The words stumble out of Yuri’s mouth while Otabek ravishes his body. How can someone who is shaking with that strange and intoxicating combination of jealousy, rage and lust still manage to lay it on so thick?

Otabek cups either side of his chest and places blunt little love bites on his pectorals. He sucks little marks, and then pulls away to look at and admire his work. Occasionally, Yuri will let a little moan slip out. It’s the kind that starts in the back of his throat and spills through his lips before he can stop himself and Otabek will kiss him in response. His lips are already red, swollen and over kissed from the cab ride over. So Otabek will kiss him gently, almost tenderly. Then, as if he’d forgotten the tenderness of the kisses, he’ll go back to Yuri’s chest.

Otabek sucks hard on Yuri’s nipples to get them puffy and red immediately. Then, he tries his teeth. Pressure filled bites that lack the bluntness of the treatment he’d given his chest.   
“Oh, god Otabek,” Yuri buries his fingers into Otabek’s hair. His fingers become sticky with hair product. Yuri pulls at the roots, which earns him the darkest and hungriest of growls from Otabek in response.

Otabek mirrors this action on Yuri’s other nipple, and then when he’s raw and over sensitive, Otabek will nip lightly against the skin, almost gently in comparison. Or, he’ll blow cool air on Yuri’s overstimulated skin. “Say it again Yuri. My name.”

“Otabek.” Otabek moves down Yuri’s body. He kisses down his chest, and each rib. He laps at his navel, and bathe his hip bones in wide laps of the tongue. It breaks something loose in Yuri.

“Otabek.”

“Otabek.”

“Beka.”

Otabek pops open Yuri’s jeans without so much as trying to unbutton them. He pulls, and he tugs, and in the distance Yuri can hear the sharp ping of the button hitting the wall. Otabek pushes the jeans down his hips, and makes Yuri step out of them.

Otabek grasps him on either side of his hips, holds him firm, and simply stares. “You wore this out?”

“No Altin,” Yuri snorts. “I fucking managed to change panties somehow between you mauling me in the doorway, and you mauling me against the wall.”

Otabek traces the thin hot pink fabric of his underwear. The shirt and the underwear might’ve been a set. Granted, the thong is made of tighter mesh. They’re totally ridiculous and wildly uncomfortable. Yuri felt like his balls were popping out the entire night, probably because they were. But it’s totally fucking worth it to get a reaction like this from Otabek who looks like he's gonna have to pick his jaw up off the goddamn floor. After all, luck doesn’t earn you a reaction like that.

Otabek’s fingers dig into his hips as he turns him around. Yuri just assumes the standard position that he’s come to expect from this. Legs spread wide, arms spread out against the large mirror wall. This time it’s different. Yuri has to make a concentrated effort to not meet his own gaze in the mirror. As much as he wants to inspect every single mark that Otabek left against his skin, he’s afraid to see what his face actually looks like. Eyes that are blown wide rom sex, and blood shot from one too many cocktails.

Yuri feels Otabek hook a finger underneath the thin band that covers his asshole. Yuri expected Otabek to rip that too, since he seems hell bent on destroying every part of his outfit. Instead, Otabek simply pushes the fabric aside, over his ass.

“Stay right there,” Otabek orders. “Need lube.”

Yuri feels something drop in the pit of his stomach. Something that burns tight like arousal and makes his chest flutter in something almost like fear. The only thing that keeps the feeling from latching onto him and enveloping him fully is the reminder that this is Otabek and Otabek loves him.

Otabek’s fingers work quickly and deftly. First, there’s a slick finger circling his hole. Yuri swears that because his cock strains so tightly against the mesh of his panties, and because everywhere else on his body is kissed so raw, that this simple action makes him see stars when he screws his eyes shut. Otabek pushes a finger in with little preamble.

“Good?”

“Yeah,” Yuri breathes. “I-” and he wanted to say that he was ready for another one already, but Otabek has beat him to it. He’s placing another inside before Yuri can even choke out a full response. “Jesus fuck Beka.”

“So tight.” Yuri can hear the smirk in his voice. Yuri can feel him part his cheeks wider so Otabek can get a good leisurely look at his fingers in Yuri’s asshole. Otabek fucking loves fingering him. It’s another one of his weird power and control things. Otabek has a thing about seeing Yuri come undone while Otabek sits still, quiet, and controlled in self denial of his own pleasure. Otabek scissors his fingers, wide and narrow, wide and narrow stretching Yuri out thoroughly. But he knows that Otabek isn’t going to pull out and fuck him anytime soon.

“So, you’re going to come on my fingers.” Otabek husks into his ear. “In your panties,” he adds as an afterthought.

“I swear to god Altin,” Yuri murmurs through a litany of curses in multiple languages, but it’s no good. Otabek has made up his mind. Otabek hooks another finger inside of him.

“Yuri look at me.”

Yuri has slowly slid down the wall. With each finger, Yuri loses the will to stand on his own power. He slumps down lower on the mirrored wall, and Otabek towers over him in this position. Yuri forces his gaze upward, and locks eyes with Otabek in the mirror.

“Who is the only one that can touch you just right?” As if on cue, Otabek rotates his wrist, and flicks his fingers just right.

“Yo-ou” Yuri mewls. Otabek’s fingers are thick just like his cock. So fucking good.

“The only one that can work you open like this?”

“You, Beka.” Yuri wonders...Yuri hopes that this display makes Otabek just as weak in the knees as he is.

“Who’s the only one who can make you come like this?”

Otabek somehow puts more pressure on his prostate, and as if on cue, Yuri’s coming loud and hard into his panties. Shuddering and melting around Otabek’s fingers.

Otabek holds his gaze strong, as if he’s waiting for a response.

“You Beka.”

“That’s right.”

Yuri hears the clink of Otabek’s belt buckle, and the sharp unzipping sound of his pants.

He enters Yuri right away. Otabek knows enough about Yuri’s body to understand that whenver he’s just come he’s often overwhelmed with the desire to come again. He’s also overwhelmed with the simultaneous desire to not have any contact. It always feels so overwhelming.

Otabek’s cock is thick and hits him just right, so that every movement tugs him in opposite directions. There’s the promise of something so good there. There’s theunrelenting brutal pleasure that lets him know that Otabek isn’t going to stop until he’s milked dry. There is the pins and needles feeling of too-much-too-soon, that makes him want to beg Otabek to slow down.   
Never stop.

Otabek’s thrusts are hard. Otabek’s grip on his hips are bruising. With his free hand, Otabek grabs his hair into a sloppy ponytail. His long blonde strands are wrapped around his fist, and Otabek pulls him back into a rough open mouthed kiss that’s far from romantic. Theres the slight clink of teeth, and there’s the frustrated push for dominance. Yuri would like a shred of it while Otabek leaves him covered in bruises, and thrusts in so roughly that he knows he’s going to be sore.

“Look at me Yuri.”

“Ah, Beka,” Otabek’s relented. Kind of. Instead of going in fast and rough he’s alternated his thrusts. Slowly, he pull almost all the way out and slams back in.

Otabek bites his lip, and it quivers beneath his teeth. Otabek’s complexion is flushed. Yuri can feel the rustle of fabric against his back, and it’s clear that Otabek sweat through his clothes the fury of his body against Yuri’s. Otabek’s brows are furrowed in concentration, his eye are darkened with pure lust. It’s a dangerous expression for such a controlled person to wear so freely.

“Look at yourself Yura,”

When Yuri looks back in the mirror, he’s worse than he imagined. His hair is frizzy in every direction. His eyes are blown wide, his lips look like he’s done nothing but kiss Otabek for the past two or three days and not done so much as come up for air. He can’t even begin to count all the little marks on his skin.

“Are you hard again?”

Yuri doesn’t know if Otabek’s been fucking him for seconds or for hours. Every muscle in his body is screaming for mercy because of Otabek, and yet he never wants this to end.

“Yes.”

“Gonna come for me again?” And It’s implied that Otabek is going to make him spill in his damp underpants once more.

“Who do you belong to Yuri?”

Yuri smirks and leans back into Otabek’s touch. For a moment he doesn’t respond. He just enjoys the sight of his own body splayed wide, and Otabek behind him: dominating and jealous, loving, and infatuated. He does nothing but listen to the sound of Otabek’s skin slap against his own. He listens to the soft little undertones of his uneven breaths, and Otabek’s futile attempts to even out his own breathing.

“Beka,” Yuri purrs. He can feel his own orgasm building. This time, it’s much more slow, but promises to be just as intense as the first.

Otabek knows this. Knows that it takes Yuri longer to come on the second time around, especially when his body can't decide if he’s more turned on than before or severely overstimulated. Otabek grants him mercy, and rubs on his cock through wet soaked panties.

“You,” Yuri supplies simply. “Belong to you.”

Yuri comes into his panties for the second time that night.

Yuri expects to feel Otabek twitch deep within him. Expects to feel the familiar feeling of his ass being filled with come, and Otabek carefully trying to pull out.

Instead, he feels Otabek pull out. “Knees, Yuri.”

“Oh, Beka,” Yuri grins and sinks to his knees. “Was I that bad?” They’d talked about this before. They hadn’t actually gotten to try it yet. Usually, the mere mention made Otabek blow his load right away.

“Want to?” Otabek’s lust addled stare softens for a moment. As if he knows that for the first time tonight, he could have crossed a line. “You can...with your hands instead?”

“But I’ve been so bad Beka,” Yuri responds. Yuri takes Otabek’s cock in his hands as if to signify that it’s okay. He’s thought about it, and it’s okay. Yuri laps experimentally at the tip. Otabek tastes like lube.

Yuri isn’t lucky. He works really fucking hard. To get gold medals, and break records, and have sex that would make a pornstar blush with envy.

Otabek buries his fingers in the roots of Yuri’s hair, and pulls him forward on his cock. Yuri laps gently at the slit a few times before experimentally sliding his hand down Otabek’s cock. He’s so hard, and so ready to come. Yuri scratches lightly with his nails, and gets a loud deep groan from Otabek in response. Otabek loves that, just a little bit of pain and a little bit of pressure to offset pleasure.

Yuri rubs the head of Otaek’s dick against his lips, and tastes the constant stream of precome there. Then takes in the head. Yuri uses his other hand to tease Otabek’s balls they’re pulled tight against his body. They feel heavy in his hands. Yuri moves his hands back further, and pushes against his perineum with his fingers. He wishes he knew where Otabek had stashed the lube. Otabek would lose it with just a finger right now.

Yuri pulls of of Otabek’s cock. “Make sure you watch yourself,” Yuri commands. He wishes he could see what Otabek looks like right now. Having Yuri suck him right after Otabek fucked him.

Yuri grabs Otabek irm at the base, and moves his hand from root to tip, tip to root until he can feel Otabek twitch in his hand. He’s so fucking close. Yuri rubs Otabek’s slit in rapid circles with his thumb. Otabek is dripping wet. Serves the bastard right for making him come in his pants twice that night.

“Now who do you belong to Otabek?” Yuri says as he works his fist up and down Otabek’s face. Yuri opens his mouth, and positions Otabek’s dick just right.

Another stuttered moan spills out of Otabek’s mouth. His jaw drops open, like it’s completely unexpected. Yuri saw it building from the moment he dropped onto his knees. He simply knows Otabek’s body that well. Otabek spills on his chin, and across his cheeks.

“Beka-” Yuri laps at the come he can reach with his tongue. Yuri knows that he’s covered n come, but he expects a response. “Who do you belong to?”

“You Yuri. Always you.”

 


	4. Behind the Wheel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me at 6 PM last nite seeing WTTM hype: Wonder if I'm gonna do another chapter bc of this? 
> 
> Me at noon today: 3k words of finger sucking. 
> 
> HMU on Tumblr boxwineconfession.tumblr.com

_Please_  
 _Sweet little girl_  
 _I prefer_  
 _You behind the wheel_  
 _And me the passenger_  
  
Otabek found him as soon as his ass was tossed out onto the street. Immediately, he parted the crowd gathered outside of the club and pulled him forward by the lapels. Finally, Otabek’s attention was turned not to the music, or the crowd, or the pulsing club before him, but back onto him. That’s where it fucking belonged. He pulled Yuri up by the lapels, and Yuri relished in the hungry, almost predatory look in Otabek’s eyes. Gone was the cool detachment from before. “This is what you want?”   
  
Yuri whines a single exaggerated syllable that he can only hope sounds like a “yes,” because he does. So fucking badly.   
  
Then Otabek was pushing him against the wall. Brick met his back, but a firm gloved hand cupped the base of his skull protecting him from the rough stone wall. Yuri’s first kiss wasn’t like what he saw Katsudon and baldy do in the hotspring. It wasn’t soft, nor was it tender. It was rough, and demanding, and full of teeth. Fucking perfect.   
  
Otabek sucked on neck until Yuri could feel his skin pulsing underneath his shirt. Then, he pulled Yuri onto the bike. They were at the rink in no time. 

* * *

The music was fucking perfect. Otabek found something for him in no time. It had lots of wailing guitar and screeching lyrics. Yuri fucking loved it. Otabek said that he didn’t really do anything to it, other than speed up the tempo, and boost the bass. It certainly looked like he was doing more than that when hit the buttons on his sampler with nimble fingers.   
  
On the ice, Yuri basically knew what kind of choreography he wanted. It wasn’t like they were starting completely from scratch. He’d been working on the shitty version of his exhibition skate for some now. Victor always said that exhibition skates weren’t about technical moves, but instead about captivating the audience. Showing them a different side of you once you weren’t pinned down by program requirements.   
  
Victor was fucking wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Fucking wrong. He’s seen Katsudon’s expo skate. It’s fucking boring. There were very few jumps, and that’s the only thing that separates them from the pussies who “ice dance”. What good is skating if you take away all of the good parts?   
  
Yuri wanted to retain the cantilever maneuver, although he wasn’t doing it by the book. One knee down, leaning back. Yeah. Of course the Bielman had to stay. That was his signature. People knew him for that, and he didn’t mind the move. He was one of the few men in singles that could do it. Then he had some quads. A quad or two never hurt anyone.   
  
It was actually really fucking convenient that he already, sort of, almost, had the moves figured out because It was impossible to not stop what he was doing, and drift into Otabek’s space. Otabek smelled like leather and aftershave. Yuri could feel the grainy beginnings of five o’clock shadow on his face. This music and these moves were so fucking cool, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this should be Otabek’s exhibition skate and not his own.   
  
Otabek’s kisses are rough and demanding, and Yuri loves every second of it. He pushes back with every demanding move that Otabek makes. He reverses their positions so that Otabek is pressed against the rail, and Yuri is the one with his leg jammed between his thigh. Yuri is the one rucking Otabek’s shirt up, and burning the tips of his fingers against searing hot skin.   
  
Otabek sucks in air sharply, and exhales, “Yuri.”   
  
Which of course only spurns him on. It’s Yuri who leaves marks this time. One against Otabek’s neck, and another matching one on his collar bone. Yuri pulls away to look at his work. They look blush red in the dim fluorescent lighting of the rink. Perfect.   
  
Otabek puts one hand on either side of his shoulders, and pushes him away. “Now, go through it again.” It’s not a request. He queues the music, and moves into position before Yuri can even understand that he doesn’t want to make out anymore.   
  
Otabek suggests a split jump toward the end, which is fucking perfect. Otabek tells him during the culminating scene that he’s a horrible actor. Yuri growls back, “You’re the one who is fucking fingerblasting me.” 

* * *

Yuri skated to meet Otabek at the rail. Otabek took the first glove off with his hands. The second with his mouth. Like all good elements of a skate, it wasn’t planned. It just sort of happened, and then it stuck.   
  
This time, Otabek didn’t relinquish his hand when the glove was off. Time slows down. Yuri’s 99% sure he stops breathing, and how long can you fucking go without breathing? Cause Yuri feels like he’s about to drown out on the ice.   
  
With the glove removed, Otabek raises Yuri’s finger to his own mouth, and lets his lips brush against his fingertips. Then, he parts his lips slightly, lets the tip of his finger rest against his tongue. Otabek widens his mouth so that the entire pad of his finger is enveloped in warmth and wet, and then before he can fully comprehend whats going on Otabek’s mouth is wrapped around his finger up to the first knuckle and suckling at it lightly.  
  
Otabek takes in another. The sight of Otabek’s mouth pursed around his fingers makes him almost come in his pants right then and there. He knows for a goddamn fact he has a big awkward wet spot soaking through his jeans. He can feel the tight sticky dampness against the head of his own cock.   
  
“Um,” Yuri has tried so fucking hard to keep up with Otabek all night. It was easy at first. Show his moves, push Otabek up against the wall and manhandle him until he was all but moaning. But this was too fucking much. “You gonna do this during the thing?”   
  
Otabek pulls off with a loud wet pop. “Only if you want me to.” 

* * *

 

They don’t leave the rink until after three A.M. The maintenance crew shows up to treat the ice, and do sound check, even though the Men’s exhibition is in the afternoon.   
  
Yuri makes them stop at a 24 hour convenience store. He wants a diet coke, and maybe some candy, because fuck it. Otabek stops in front of an end cap by the counter.   
  
Yuri tries to play it cool when he sees what it is that Otabek is looking at. Little black boxes, with words in Spanish that he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t have to understand the packaging to know that they’re condoms. “You should get some,” because that’s where all this is leading right? He’s ground up against Otabek’s cock how many times tonight during practice? Doesn’t matter how many times really. Otabek has been hard every single fucking time.   
  
Otabek buys a pack alongside a can of cold brew coffee. He slips them into Yuri’s hand when they part ways in the hotel lobby. “So you’re ready for afterward.” Then he adds, “I’ll be ready too,” with a knowing look.   
  
Right. Like Yuri’s supposed to know what he means by a look. “What the fuck Altin?” he murmurs under his breath. 

* * *

 

As fucking planned, the performance is awesome. He executes every move seamlessly, and his ears still ring from the sound of girls screaming when Otabek pulled the glove off with his mouth. Yuri gets a lecture from Yakov, and Lilia, and then fatass and dumbass actually fucking compliment him on his choreography. Yuri mindlessly scrolls through Twitter and Instagram the whole time. Apparently, he and Otabek have left quite an impression.   
  
I don’t know what to do with my hands.  
  
A row of fire emojis tagged with his handle.   
  
A photo of a fingerless glove with the caption, “God, I wish that were me.”   
  
When everyone has given him their goddamn opinion, Yuri walks back to the hotel alone. Otabek didn’t stick around for any of the skaters scheduled to go after them. Yuri envies the fact that despite being a top athlete, young, and reckless, Otabek is unsupervised. He simply slipped the key to his hotel room into his hand, and said, “See you soon.”   
  
Yuri didn’t even bother to shower afterward. He simply crammed all of his gear into his bag, and started walking. It’s a ten minute walk to the hotel. It takes Yuri twenty because he can’t fucking stop ducking into alley ways and shop doorways to open his wallet and take furtive glances at the condom that’s nested between crumpled Euros and Rubles. 

* * *

 

“Yuri.” Otabek breaks the kiss to husk into his ear. “You were so good.” Otabek leans into him, takes fistfuls of his sweat soaked t-shirt and inhales deeply. Yuri would think that it was gross, if the feeling of Otabek’s breath against his sweat soaked skin didn’t feel so fucking good.   
  
Much like when they were on the ice together last night, and this afternoon, they fell together naturally. Otabek peels his shirt off, and the feeling of sweat meeting climate control air makes him shiver. Otabek warms him up with kisses across his neck, his chest, and even his nipples. “Oh Fuck, Otabek,” and a stream of incoherent things that come out in half Russian and half English spill forward from his mouth.   
  
Otabek slowly drops to his knees, and he kisses at the waist of his jeans. Otabek is good at this, too good to have never done this before. He doesn’t act like Yuri who can do nothing other than whine, moan, and rub his clothed dick against anything that promises friction. Still, he doesn’t seem like the kind of person to have done this a lot either.   
  
Otabek pops the button off of his liquid tight pants. Then, he leans in with his mouth and pulls the zipper on his pants down. The sight alone nearly makes his heart stop beating.   
  
Otabek makes quick work of his pants pulling them downward so that the only thing Yuri has to do is step out of them. “Did you bring them?”   
  
Yuri swallows the lump in his throat. “Yeah.” He swallows the lump only to have it replaced with a pounding in his chest. This was no time to get nervous. Everything with Otabek so far had been fucking amazing. It’s just that, he’s literally fucking never done anything like this. Fuck, his first kiss was last night. Otabek has to know that right? Otabek won’t judge him if he’s bad right? What if hurts? What if it doesn’t hurt, but he doesn’t like it?   
  
“Yuri.” Otabek takes his hand into his. He raises his fingers to his mouth once more. Huh. Otabek must really fucking like that. “It’s okay. We’ll go at your pace.”   
  
His pace huh? Yuri doesn’t even know what his pace is. It could be jumping on Otabek’s cock right now, or it could be running away and never returning his friend’s calls ever again.   
  
Otabek closes his eyes and works his tongue on the underside of Yuri’s finger. It’s so fucking dirty. Yuri adds another finger this time, emboldened by the simple fact that Otabek seems to have confidence in him.   
  
Otabek looks up with him at half lidded eyes. He pulls Yuri’s middle finger out of his mouth slowly, then his index. Otabek immediately replaces Yuri’s fingers with his cock.   
  
Otabek’s mouth is so much fucking better than his own hand. Yuri’s fingertips immediately flutter to the back of Otabek’s head. Otabek gives him soft teasing flicks of the tongue at the tip of his cock. He hollows out his cheeks and takes more of Yuri in, only to release him and start the process anew.   
  
“Oh my fucking God. Otabek.” With repeating murmurs of, “Otabek. Otabek. Ah, fuck Otabek, I can’t. I’m gonna.”   
  
Otabek pulls back from his cock. He holds him firm around the base of his cock in a way that is almost painful. He certainly doesn’t want to come right now, so he fixed that problem. “Ready?”   
  
“Um.” Yuri examines the ceiling for a moment. “You said you’d be ready. What did you do?” Deflection. Perfect.   
  
Maybe I wasn’t clear.”   
  
No he fucking wasn’t clear. Unless it was about music or skating, Otabek was never fucking clear.   
  
Otabek rises, and steals a quick kiss. Yuri wanted to deepen it, but Otabek breaks away. First he peels away his shirt, then his pants and underwear in one swift motion. Yuri can feel the tension hang between them like long thick tendrils.   
  
“I mean, I’ll do anything you want, but…” Otabek bites his lower lip, whether it’s in concentration, arousal, or impatience Yuri doesn’t know. “I thought you’d like being on top.”   
  
Oh. Oh. Suddenly it all makes sense. There’s a night’s worth of Otabek sucking on his fingers between them. There is also an entire night of Yuri pushing back against Otabek and wrestling control from him wherever and whenever he could.   
  
Otabek takes Yuri’s hand and walks them backwards toward the bed. “Let me clarify.” Otabek lays back onto the mattress, leaving Yuri frozen in place near the bed frame.   
  
Time stands still once again as Yuri watches Otabek pull his legs up to his chest, spread himself wide, and push a finger inside. “Want you on top.” Otabek slides another finger in. He makes it look easy, but Yuri can see how tight Otabek’s fingers stretch out his own rim.   
  
Otabek's words from last night hammer into the back of his skull over, and over, and over again. “Ready,” ready,” “ready.” Fuck. Otabek worked himself open like this, maybe even before the exhibition. It’s like this fucking asshole is bound and determined to make him come in his fucking pants before they can even get to anything.   
  
It pisses Yuri off. Yuri’s just going to have to prove to him that no matter how fucking criminally sexy Otabek is, he can’t fucking beat Yuri at his own goddamn game.   
  
Yuri fumbles for his discarded clothes, his wallet, and the condom inside. WIth shaking hands, he finds it, brings it to bed.   
  
Otabek snatches it away from him almost immediately. “Let me show you something.”   
  
Yuri wants to question, what Otabek has left that he could possibly show him. Instead, he’s struck dumbfounded once again as Otabek tears the foil wrapper away, and sinks to his knees. Otabek places the condom on the very tip of Yuri’s cock, and then slowly envelops Yuri’s cock with his mouth.   
  
Otabek works down the length of his shaft painfully slowly so as to not catch the condom with his teeth. It’s agonizing, watching him move and watching the muscles in his throat constrict. ‘How the fuck are you so fucking sexy?”   
  
When Otabek is finished, he simply meets Yuri’s gaze, smoldering hot and ready. So fucking ready.   
  
Yuri pulls him back up onto the bed. “On your knees. You seem to like that.”   
  
“That’s it Plisetsky,” and Yuri can feel the hint of a smirk in Otabek’s voice even though he’s pushing his shoulder blades down.   
  
“You want it?” But Yuri’s already pressing the tip of his cock against Otabek’s hole. It looks so tight, and twitches against the faintest touch of his cock. It’s so fucking hot. Otabek is so fucking hot, and he’s all fucking his.   
  
“Yeah,” Otabek’s breath is shaky, but the way that he pushes back against him is certain.   
  
Yuri’s intention is to go slow. Sure, Otabek seems to really, really, really know what he’s doing, but he should still be careful right? Yuri’s actions are the exact fucking opposite. How the fuck can he go slow? He’s got Otabek Altin, nothing but bronze skin and silky black body hair on all fours practically begging for his cock.   
  
Yuri slams in. Otabek, because he’s Otabek ,and he’s so fucking sexy and so fucking cool, pushes back to meet him.   
  
Yuri confronts Otabek’s body the same way he confronts the ice. With fierceness, and fury, and passion, and just the tiniest hint of anger. He grabs hold of Otabek’s hips in a way that will surely leave bruises and doesn't let go. He thrusts at an agonizing pace, because Otabek’s body can handle it.   
  
Otabek is full of surprises. Sappy romantic fucker, talented musician, and fucking noisey in bed. He makes the most delicious moaning sounds with each snap of Yuri’s hips. He rises to meet every thrust, even after he warns “Slow down. You’ll come too soon.”   
  
In the back of his mind, he knows that Otabek is fucking right. He can feel his vision tunnel, and his movements get sloppy. He can feel himself support more of his weight on Otabek’s spread wide thighs. Fuck.   
  
  
Yuri thought that the best part of fucking Otabek was the sounds. Then, he thought it was the wonderful elastic pressure of Otabek’s body. They seemed to fit together perfectly no matter how hard Yuri pounded. No matter how abrasive Yuri’s grasp. Yuri comes with an undignified cry of, “Otabek-” and then he knows as he feels his cock twitch deep inside the other man’s body that this is actually the very best part.   
  
Otabek is so fucking good. Too fucking good cause, he takes care of him even after he’s spent, and Otabek is still throbbing hard. He ties off and throws away the condom, he washes him off with a washrag. “Otabek, what can I?” Yuri asks through the static that scrambles his brains.   
  
Otabek straddles his lap. He guides his fingers to Yuri’s mouth once more, and gets them dripping wet. He directs them to his hole. Otabek takes Yuri’s other hand and wraps it around his cock.   
  
Feeling Otabek this way is addictive too, even though he’s already come, and he feels so fucking satisfied. Otabek twitches and moans against his fingers as if they were his cock. He’s coming onto Yuri’s stomach in minutes.   
  
“You really fucking like that don’t you?” Otabek has put his fingers back into his mouth after they cleaned up. They’re the ones that Yuri had inside of him. “It’s kind of gross…” and then he adds quickly, “Kinda hot.”   
  
“That’s sex Yuri.”   
  
Something nags at the base of his spine. Something like fear, something like excitement. It makes him cuddle closer to Otabek. “Can we try it the other way?” All he knows for sure is that his flight is in twelve hours, and he doesn’t want to leave Otabek’s side. Not after they just met. He wants to do everything and then some in twelve hours or less. 

 


	5. Forever & a Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voslen said, "i want a fic where Yuri “let me skate to eros” Plisetsky is the experienced one and Otabek “while you were having premarital sex i was studying the blades” Altin is the blushing virgin." 
> 
> He's not *blushing* much, but like, I tried. 
> 
> Go fuckin listen to "Forever & a Day" by Wire six million times.

“You still live with your folks?” Yuri asks as he steps off of the bike and takes off his helmet. “You’re 18. As soon as I can, I’m out of there.” Of course _there_ means Lilia’s stuffy revival style home, which may as well double as an antique mall considering how much fancy shit is crammed in it.

“I do,” Otabek responds.  He walks the bike fully into the carport, and then goes about unstrapping Yuri’s carryon bag from the rear fender of the bike. He closes the distance between himself and Yuri, and steals a quick, chaste peck on the mouth. “I’m never home. Even off-season, I have to travel to America from time to time. My choreographer lives in New York.”

“Does your mother do your laundry for you Altin?” Yuri hefts his back pack onto his shoulder. It’s a really dumb thing to say. He’s looking at a goddamn three story mansion. Otabek shows him around, and it turns out he really  doesn’t need a reason to move out.

“What do you think Yuri?” Otabek asks him after he shows him around.

“It’s good,” Yuri responds. “That way we don’t have to be quiet later.”

The days slide by in Almaty. The hours slide by in a surreal slowness, but accumulate quickly. They suck each other off by the pool in the morning, and when Yuri’s skin starts to tinge red, even after reapplying sun screen, they slink inside to Otabek’s compound.

That’s what it fucking is, a compound. In the afternoons, they rotate between Otabek’s music room, and Otabek’s actual room. In the music room Yuri watches Otabek’s fingers work the buttons: up, down, and diagonal. Each button is preprogrammed to make a different sound, but he’s certain that he could just watch Otabek’s fingers move. Here, Yuri steals kisses from Otabek and tries to get him to miss a beat.

He never does.

In Otabek’s room, they just lay around and decay. Otabek’s room is super fucking cool. He’s got this big ass television, and video games that they play for hours. He’s got a mini-fridge filled with coke. He’s got black lights that make their clothes glow. The black lights make it look like they’re in the movies when they move in the light, with their movements slowed down and everything looking distorted.

Here, Yuri kisses Otabek, and he tastes like cherry coke. They make out until there are sticky damp spots on their underwear. Until Otabek ruts up against him too hard, and comes too soon.

Yuri could go on like this forever, except….

You don’t get on international flights for make outs that last for hours. That’s what the hotel is for after the free skate. You don’t get on international flights to dry hump until one or both of you come in your jeans. You don’t get on international flights to blow each other. That’s what the locker room is for after a performance.

International flights were for fucking. They were for pinning each other down, and wrestling around to figure out who’s on top. International flights were for sucking each other off until you come on each other’s faces, and then keep going until you were both hard again. And then fucking again.

He’s been in Almaty for almost a week. Everything feels natural. Like it will go on forever, except for the nagging little fact that Yuri knows that it won’t. Yuri knows that Otabek is super into romantic gentlemanly stuff, but this was a bit much.

It starts out like it always does. Yuri surrenders his controller to the ocean like comforter. He and Otabek have lost their second consecutive round of Rocket League. With the streak ended, there’s really nothing left to do other than make out to Otabek’s playlist.

Otabek’s lips are soft, and he kisses so fucking good. Otabek’s patience is good for something. He taught him how to enjoy a kiss, not just knock lips together, and mash body parts together, and hope for the best.

Yuri traces the lines of Otabek’s lips. Otabek allows him to deepen the kiss. Soon enough they’re falling back onto the bed, and then they’re squirming forward and discarding the controllers, remotes and phones they’d laid upon.

They make out for what feels like forever and a day. Yuri’s lips feel puffy, almost sore, but it’s hard to move things forward when Otabek makes the best little noises when he flicks his tongue just right. It’s hard to even think about getting undressed when Otabek’s cock is pressing up against his thigh even though he knows that it will feel about six billion times better when they’re both finally naked. Naked and fucking.

_Are you in trouble? Are you in pain?_

_Doubts and pulse doubled? Is it hard to explain?_

The song thrums over the sound system like a pulse. Yuri likes it, even though Otabek likes old school, and Yuri likes new stuff. This one’s okay. “Are you really gonna send me home without rocking my world?”

_Darling, I want you to stay_

_Oooh! Darling, forever and a day_

Yuri’s hands toy with the hem of Otabek’s t-shirt. He knows Otabek is the one, because Otabek loves Versace as much as he does. Yuri thought that he was the only one that could look so good in the gold medusa logo, but he met Otabek and was wrong. So wrong.

Otabek kisses him again. It’s deeper, and more urgent than their prior kisses. Otabek probes Yuri’s mouth, each flick of his tongue a silent question. “Sorry,” Otabek says palming the damp spot on his underwear. “I guess I’m just a little bit nervous.”

_The vile double bubble was clearly to blame_

_The vile double bubble, it had poisoned your brain_

“Why?” Yuri scoffs. “Don’t be on my account. I’m not like a slut or anything, but-“

God, Otabek is gonna be so fucking good. He already knows. It was going so well the other day when they were both in the music room rutting up against each other.  The pressure and the drag were amazing. Yuri couldn’t fault Otabek for coming in his pants. He was like, one pump behind him he was so worked up. He can’t blame Otabek for getting so worked up now that they never get past blowing each other. Otabek is so fucking good with his mouth it’s obscene.

“Um,” Otabek pulls back slightly from Yuri, but refuses to meet his gaze. “About that.” Otabek clenches is jaw before forcing his mouth to move, as if he has to tug every syllable out of his mouth. “You’re my first.”

_Darling, I want you to stay._

_Darling, forever and a day._

Yuri can feel the little gears turning behind his eyes making them go wide. It all clicks into place and becomes so fucking obvious: the blushing, the cautious kissing, the coming in his fucking pants from just a little dry humping. Yuri was so quick to disregard all of that as gentlemanly bullshit, or raw white hot attraction between them that he hadn’t considered for a moment that…

“You mean to tell me,” Yuri leans into his space and touches their foreheads so that all Yuri can see are Otabek’s big brown eyes. Yuri can’t tell if his expression is enamored or terrified. “That I’m gonna take Otabek Altin, sexiest fucking skater in the history of ever’s virginity? I’m gonna pop the cherry of the man who has women and men throw themselves at him?” Yeah, “Otababes,” and “Otabros,” were totally a fucking thing now after this season.

Otabek pulls back slightly. His brow is furrowed, and his nose is wrinkled. It’s the same kind of face that he makes whenever Yuri is super fucking hungry and shoveling food in to his mouth. That is to say, kind of disgusted, and kind of enamored. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

“How were you _not_ fucking around at training camp?” Yuri tugs the shirt, and Otabek finally gets the fucking hint. He sits up just enough that he can pull Otabek’s shirt off, and oh fuck. He looks so fucking good. The dim lights of Otabek’s black lights hit him just right. He can see the lines of his stomach, and the well-defined muscles of his arms, and oh god his arms. Yuri wants to be wrapped up in those arms like a little fucking princess.

“Some of us were there to train,” Otabek insists.

“Yeah, well,” Yuri sits up and peels his own shirt off before sinking back down onto the mattress and worming his way back into Otabek’s arms. He steals furtive touches of whatever bits of skin that he can reach. Otabek’s stomach, his sides, his bicep, every touch somehow burns hotter and longer than the last. “Maybe that’s for the best. I know what kind of assholes you went to training camp with.”

“Did you just call yourself an asshole Plisetsky?” Otabek chuckles in between rapid fire closed mouthed kisses.

“You know who I was fucking talking about Altin. That asshole Leroy. Although,” He pulls away from the crook of Otabek’s neck. “I don’t trust De la Iglesia and his little boyfriend either, and,” Yuri changes the subject, because now that he knows he’ll be Otabek’s first, the mere thought of anyone else having him makes his skin crawl. “Can we please fuck? I’ll make sure it’s good for both of us.”

Otabek switches their positions so they’re no longer lazily laying and making out. Otabek pulls Yuri’s neon colored leggings downward, leaving him only in his underwear. Yuri hopes that he looks so fucking cool right now laying on the sheets under a black light in neon underwear. He fucking _has_ to look cool right? The underwear are tiger print. “I was hoping you’d say something like that.”

“Fuck yeah,” Yuri hisses as Otabek palms him through his underwear. Yuri lets Otabek have fun with his body. Yuri lets him palm his dick and his balls until there’s a big sticky wet patch on the front of his underwear. Yuri lets him suck and pinch his nipples until they’re just as bruised as his mouth. “Ah-“ Yuri whimpers when Otabek spends too long on one place. “Alright, alright,” he knows what it is that Otabek is doing. He’s making Yuri eat his words for teasing Otabek about coming in his pants.

Yuri sits up, and switches their positions once again. He strips Otabek’s pants, palms him through his jet black briefs, and then does away with them entirely.

“Have I ever told you, how fucking big you are? Like, god damn.” Yuri probably looks like a fucking cartoon character right now, with his eyes wide and his heart visibly beating out of his chest. He knows for fucking sure that he’s drooling right now, cause seeing Otabek’s cock always makes him drool.

“Yuri,” it comes out as a half plea, half whine. Yuri’s hit that spot between embarrassment and anxiety for Otabek. He’s probably nervous about hurting him, which _isn’t_ going to be a problem.

“If you feel like you’re going to come, just pull me off,” Yuri barks before scrambling down Otabek’s body and inhaling his cock without further warning or preamble.

Otabek yelps as Yuri latches on. It makes Yuri pull back for a moment, and merely holds him in his mouth. It’s kind of cute really, how this super stoic and controlled guy just _loses it_ the second Yuri gets anywhere near his cock. Yuri waits for his breathing to still before teasing the head of Otabek’s cock. He traces each big vein on the underside, and there are so many of them.

He lets the drool pool underneath his tongue before he lets it slide out and down Otabek’s dick because he’s going to need all of the help that he can get.

Otabek makes far sexier noises while he does this. He bites his hand and moans into it so that all Yuri can hear is a garbled mess of, “Yuri,” and “please,” and “Yura.”

He pops off of Otabek’s cock drunk with power, “Beka, watch this.” Yuri takes him in again, relaxes his throat, and doesn’t stop until he can feel the soft skin of Otabek’s balls rest against his lips.

Otabek _sobs._ Yuri moves up and down his cock a few times, but the going is slow. Otabek is huge, and he has to consciously think about not gagging. He has to disentangle Otabek’s hand from his hair, because he keeps pushing too hard.

Somewhere, in the midst of the tears that pool in the corner of his eyes, and thinking over and over and over again, “Don’t gag Plisetsky, you’ve got this,” Otabek taps him on the shoulder.

“Yuri, I’m-“

Yuri lets go with a pop. Otabek writhes against the sheets with a low, rumbling moan.

“Beka,” Yuri teases softly. “Wanna make me feel _so_ good?”

Otabek nods.

“Do you have anything?”

“Uhm…”

Yuri shakes his head, “You’d be so lost without me Altin.”

“I know.”

Yuri retrieves lube from his bag. Of course he came prepared. He thrusts the bottle into Otabek’s hands, and then gets down on all fours. He looks at Otabek dumbstruck over his shoulder. He’s so fucking cute when he bites his lip like that in out and out confusion. “Don’t worry Otabek. I’m gonna take such good care of you,” and he throws Otabek the best and sexiest smirk that he can over his shoulder.

Nothing happens for a moment. There’s just nothing but thick tension in the air, and Yuri realizes that Otabek is waiting for further instruction.

“Don’t just sink it in.” Yuri instructs when he feels pressure at his hole. “Go slow. Fucking seduce me. You’re good at that.”

He can hear Otabek swallowing thickly. Otabek complies, and circles his hole with a single lube slicked digit.

It has all the makings of something out of a bad movie really. He is sixteen, Otabek is eighteen. His parents are dirt poor. Otabek’s parents are wealthy. Otabek is a bad boy on a motorcycle, and Yuri does ballet. One of them is a blushing virgin, and the other has lots of experience.

“Okay, now just one,” Yuri instructs.

Except they’re too complex, and too real to be like the movies.

Otabek is losing his virginity in his parent’s house to a sixteen year old Russian punk who has sucked his way through the amateur skating lineup at many a regional competition.

Otabek’s fingers are thick, just like his fucking muscles, just like his fucking cock. Yuri’s not sure if he’s up for keeping his cool and talking through Otabek through all of this. He really just wants to impale himself on Otabek’s cock as soon as possible, but it’s been a few days since he’s played with his ass. He needs this.

“Okay, one more.”

“You’re really tight,” Otabek moans.

“It’s fine.”

Otabek is a quick study. He understands how to twist his wrist _just_ so. He listens to the way that Yuri’s body responds. He likes rubbing motions, and scissoring motions, not just thrusting in and out. He kisses at the small of Yuri’s back when he tenses, and his tailbone, and god, he’s going to fucking ruin Otabek. He’s going to make him into the best goddamn top a boy could dream of.

Yuri feels a tug at his rim. It’s Otabek with another finger. Yuri looks at him again over his shoulder, his eyes are blown wide, and he seems totally transfixed on Yuri’s hole, on Yuri’s pleasure.

“No.” Yuri’s voice is but an uneven growl. “I’m ready now.”

Otabek pulls his fingers out slowly. Yuri switches their positions around again quickly. He pushes Otabek to the mattress, and gets his cock lined up so that Otabek doesn’t have time to argue about the position. He’s gonna work his cock real slow, and then he’s gonna milk him dry.

“Yura,” Otabek’s hands roam across his hips, grab at his ass, and blaze trails of fire as he touches. Then, his jaw goes slack, his eyes flutter shut, and his whole body quivers as Yuri sinks down on his cock. It’s the best fucking thing Yuri’s ever seen.

“Oh, fuck Otabek. Fuck.” Otabek was big. That was clear when he tugged off his underwear, and even more clear when he tried to take Otabek’s cock into his mouth all at once, and could barely do it. Still, Yuri cannot believe, despite the sting in his ass and the twitching sensation in his cock, that he’s the first bastard lucky enough to sit on this big beautiful cock.

“Am I hurting you?” Of course, Otabek fucking says it while he’s grinding into Yuri.

“Nah.” It burns, and it stings, and he’s undeniably going to be sore in the morning, but he wants to do this again, and again, and again. It doesn’t _hurt._ He’s not some stupid fourteen year old in the locker room anymore. He does this for fun now with expensive lube, and even more expensive toys.

“Yuri,” Otabek whines. Otabek’s mouth purses into a silent question, but Yuri knows what it is that he wants. He raises up slightly on Otabek’s cock, kisses him, fast and hard, and then sinks back down. He moves his body this way, in slow and erratic movements that give them both the pleasure they want, but stave off the orgasms that _constantly_ bubble at the surface of their actions.

He kisses Otabek on the way up, and breaks the kiss on the way down, over, and over again. Otabek doesn’t even take time to breath when they break from kissing. He simply murmurs “Yuri,” over and over again, until it’s accompanied, buy a plea, “Can I come? Please?”

Yuri chuckles. His eyes are screwed shut, and he’s biting his lip, and he’s trying so hard not to come too soon like last time. It’s adorable. “Yeah baby.”

With permission, Otabek grabs onto his hips. He pistons upward, and slams into Yuri, over and over again, making Yuri retract his prior statement in a cacophony of “oh god, oh fuck, oh god, don’t you dare fucking come, right fucking there,” because Otabek’s been hitting the spot, but now, with the added force and the additional pressure he hits it relentlessly. Makes him see stars when he closes his eyes.

Makes him come untouched.

Not fucking bad for a blushing virgin.

Yuri feels Otabek twitch deep inside of his ass. He can feel him getting soft.  Otabek came too, and did his very best to fuck Yuri through it.  

Yuri comes to from his post orgasm haze to find himself simultaneously leaking, and covered in come.  “Um,” he pokes an utterly blissed out Otabek on the bicep. “You’re the top. You’re supposed to be taking care of me after you just _used_ my ass.”

“Um,” Otabek pokes Yuri back. “I just lost my virginity. You’re supposed to make sure everything is perfect or me. 

“You’re such an ass,” Yuri calls to Otabek as he moves off to the bathroom. Yuri can hear the sound of the faucet being turned on.

Otabek emerges from the bathroom with a wet washrag and a clean towel. He does his best to clean Yuri off, and then crawls back to his side in bed.

“Otabek?” Yuri asks when Otabek laces his fingers together. “That was fucking amazing. What fucking took you so long?”

“I told you,” Otabek says with a soft and genuine smile. “I was nervous.” He squeezes Yuri’s hand. “Kind of stupid, right?”

Yuri doesn’t say anything. He just squeezes back, and hugs himself as close to Otabek as possible.

“You should delay your flight. Stay until Monday,” Otabek suggests.

“Okay.”


	6. Playing Harp for the Fishes

_A mute undertaker had something to tell_  
_I stand at the threshold, I’m ringing the bell_  
 _I was hoping for heaven, I’d settle for hell_  
 _Playing harp for the fishes, it’s hard to pretend_

Night swimming was a creation born out of too much diet Red Bull, candy, and the fact that they hadn’t stepped foot outside today because the temperature outside soared. By the time two A.M. rolled around it was clear that neither of them were sleeping any time soon. Otabek asks, “wanna go swimming?” Yuri responds with, “Oh, fuck yeah.”

They push three deck chairs together and lay their towels across. They do this often, so that they can cuddle and kiss without moving too much. Otabek brings out one of his many potable speakers, and connects it to his phone.

Yuri simply cannon balls into the deep end of the pool.

Otabek waits until they’ve both submerged themselves, swam a few laps, and abandoned actual swimming for makeouts in chest deep water. He swims over to Yuri, takes him into his arms, and drifts to the wall. It doesn’t take long at all for them to get half hard from just kissing alone. Soon enough they’re rutting against each other under water. Otabek peels the front down, and palms at Yuri till he’s completely hard. It doesn’t take much effort.

Otabek might’ve just lost his virginity a few days before, but he’s a natural for making Yuri freaking lose it.  

In no time at all, Otabek is lifting him out of the water and onto the pool deck. The churning sound of water is accompanied by water splashing everywhere. Otabek stays in the pool, and instructs Yuri in a gruff and demanding tone, “scoot forward.”

Yuri complies so that his ass is half hanging off the pool’s edge, and the rest of him is sprawled out on wet concrete.

Otabek is peeling down the front of his speedo, and latching onto his cock with his mouth before he can even take the time to pull it the rest of the way down. Yuri has to crane his neck and prop himself up on his elbows to see Otabek. In the morning Yuri will probably have ugly and angry red brown scratch marks on his elbows from the rough concrete.

It will be so worth it though. The strange sallow pool lights against Otabek’s darker skin makes him look almost tinted green in the black of night. He looks so fucking good, and he looks so fucking into what he’s doing as he works up and down Yuri’s cock, hollowing his cheeks, and swallowing him down completely.

God, he’s so fucking perfect. It makes him want to blow his load right then and there.

Yuri reaches downward, and threads a hand in Otabek’s hair. Otabek has _all of him_ in his mouth, and it’s going to feel so fucking good to shoot down Otabek’s throat, and then do the fucking same for Otabek.

Except, there’s one small problem.

Otabek pulls off of Yuri’s cock, and bathes him in kisses, and licks down the shaft. They’re nice, but not appropriate when he’s so fucking close to coming.

“I’m cold,” Otabek announces, and climbs out of the pool.

A little strange, but okay fine. He fucking gets it. He made them fuck underneath three blankets yesterday because the air conditioning was turned on too high. Otabek stands over him, and for a moment Yuri does nothing other than stare at him. He can see his outstretched hand, his firm expression, and the bulge in his swim trunks.

Yuri accepts Otabek’s hand. Otabek’s fingers are wet and pruned from their swim. His grip is tight so that he can hold onto Yuri without slipping.

Otabek lays him down on the row of long deck chairs that they push together.  Then, Otabek’s got his bathing suit pulled around his hips again with his cock in his mouth.

It takes Yuri a moment to get back into it. The interruption was brief, but it was just enough to throw him off center. He no longer feels like he’s a single flick of the tongue away from coming. He no longer experiences that tightness, in his chest and in his groin that suggest that _something_ amazing is going to happen next.

Otabek doesn’t swallow him down completely again. Instead, he circles the head of his cock with his tounge. He laps at the slit, and traces his veins all the way down. But that’s not what he wants. He wants Otabek to do that thing. Otabek wills his body to relax, and he’s able to take all of his cock at once.

“Beka,” Yuri hums. He feels like he’s going to slide off of the woven plastic of the deck chair and onto the pool deck. “Please.”

Otabek _almost_ complies. He wraps his fingers tightly around the base of his cock. It _almost_ hurts, but the drag of Otabek’s mouth is too delicious. Only then does Otabek go deeper, taking more of his cock into his mouth until he hits his fingers, which hold Yuri tight at the base. Then, he pulls off of Yuri’s cock, releasing him. “Please what Yura,” he purrs back.

Yuri cannot see his face clearly. He catches parts of it in the lamps that light the perimeter of the pool. He’d bet anything in the world that Otabek is smirking at him right now.

“Let me come?”

“That’s no fun,” Otabek says with a soft chuckle. Otabek lets go of his cock or a moment. He leans into Yuri and steals a long, lingering kiss. It feels like Otabek’s about to lay him down onto a nice pair of five hundred thread count sheets and make sweet love to him, not teasing him on a deck chair. When he pulls away, he gives Yuri a look that makes him shudder. It’s the kind of look that makes him get onto a stranger’s bike. Its inky black danger, combined with rough leather sex appeal. Yuri knows that he’s going to do whatever it is that Otabek wants him to do with a fucking eager smile, and the silent question, “is this good enough Beka?”

“Don’t touch yourself. Okay?”

Otabek hooks a finger the rest of the way around Yuri’s damp Speedo, and pulls it the rest of the way down his body. Yuri can hear the heavy _smack_ of something wet hitting the pool deck, and he can only assume that it’s Otabek’s swim trunks.

He’s still damp, and sliding all over the deck chair, but it feels better now that his trunks are gone completely. He doesn’t feel like he’s being steamed alive in the summer humidity, wet and turned on and wanting more, but never quite getting over the discomfort of the wet clothing.

“We’re gonna fuck out here?”

“Maybe,” is all that Otabek offers. He pulls Yuri’s legs forward, and lifts up his hips. “Hold your cock by the base,” he husks. “Like I was doing.”

“I can’t come that way,” he whines. God, he’d created a fucking monster in the matter of two short days.

“You come really easily, and um, a lot,” Otabek says in a matter of fact tone. They both know this. Otabek fucked him yesterday until he couldn’t get hard again. Yuri was still hard, and so Otabek proceeded to use his fingers until Yuri was coming dry. Now he wants to do the opposite? Fuck. Somehow, that doesn’t sound as fun.

For whatever stupid reason, Yuri complies. Otabek’s got him bad like that. He could ask Yuri literally for the moon, and he’d go get a goddamn lasso. Makes his mouth dry just by shooting him a _certain_ kind of look. Makes his dick hard just at the insinuation of touching him.

Otabek folds his legs back. It’s not _super_ comfortable, but none of this has been. Yuri looks up at the night’s sky. It’s cloudy tonight, and so the usual even toned darkness is offset by clouds backlit by the moon in every shade of gray imaginable.

Otabek kisses between his thighs. Yuri grabs his dick as told. He’s stupid. He’s so hard right now, and he can feel himself leak against his belly. He could just grab himself and jerk himself real hard right now, and get what he wants but…

Otabek kisses his thighs, and then moves lower. Without warning, his tongue is on Yuri’s hole.

And now, Yuri’s glad Otabek told him to hold himself firm. Yuri lets out a howl that is so loud and undignified, he worries that it will wake up Otabek’s parents on the other side of the house. “What the fuck?”

“Wanted to try.” Otabek explains. “Wanted to finger you. Didn’t bring lube.” And then Otabek’s mouth is on him again. The feeling is pleasurable, like the moment where Yuri sucks in air and waits for Otabek to press his finger or his cock inside. It feels good, like that split second where Otabek just rubs his hole with his fingers or his cock without breaching him. Except, where those are just _moments_ this is extended. Light little flicks of Otabek’s tongue over and over again.

It’s good, but he wants more. More pressure. More drag. More Otabek.

As if reading his mind, Otabek pushes his tongue inside. The feeling is different. Yuri somehow feels more vulnerable, more exposed, and he already felt pretty damn exposed being laid out on the deck chair naked with his boyfriend between his legs.

Yuri bites his lip, trying his hardest to stay quiet and not make any more loud noises.  This results in soft, almost feminine sobbing noises. Completely embarrassing, and totally undignified.

Except. They almost spurn Otabek on. He groans into Yuri’s hole as he moves his tongue, making him wetter and sloppier.

Yuri still wants more. It takes every bit of energy that he has to not touch jerk himself off. Every part of it feel so oversensitive, that just the soft barely there breeze makes him leak pre-come.

“Do you still want to come, Yura?” Otabek

“So fucking bad Otabek.”

Otabek parts his legs, and moves up Yuri’s body. “Not yet.”

“What the fuck happened to that nervous virgin who wanted to fucking please me?” Yuri snaps.

Otabek looms over him. Takes his hand off of the base of Yuri’s cock. It slaps against his own stomach, and Yuri can feel the pre-come smear across his stomach. “Am I not giving you pleasure Yuri?” Otabek lets his cock drag against Yuri’s, but only for a split second.

“Ah,” it’s not enough, and it makes Yuri act stupid. Makes him thrust his hips up into the air where there’s nothing to grind on, and nothing to be gained.

Other than _more_ of Otabek’s smug grin. Fucker.

Otabek doesn’t do anything for the longest time. He simply looks Yuri’s body up and down. There’s the weight and the heat of hunger in his gaze, but the fire is turned down low, and contained. Yuri doesn’t understand.

Otabek presses his fingers to Yuri’s mouth. Yuri greedily accepts them. He swallows them down as if they were Otabek’s cock. He coats them in saliva, and when Otabek scissors them apart, Yuri coats them in-between as well.

Only after Yuri’s breathing has returned to normal, and he’s stopped humping the fucking air, does Otabek continue. He hauls Yuri back up so that his legs are tucked up onto his chest, and his ass is in the air.

Otabek works a single finger inside.

“I can take another,” Yuri assures him, but he knows that Otabek won’t actually do anything about it. He didn’t even say for sure that he wanted to fuck.

Otabek thrusts the single digit in and out, in and out. Otabek’s fingers are long enough that he can consistently hit Yuri’s prostate, but that’s not Otabek’s goal. He’ll brush against it purposefully with one touch, and then retreat with shallower thrusts of his finger. He’ll pull out completely and trace Yuri’s rim. Only to plunge back inside when Yuri’s cooled down.

Otabek fucking plays him up and down and up and down again like a scale in one of his sister’s _Beginning Piano_ music booklets.  Otabek adds and subtracts elements, seemingly at random until he’s got a combination of teeth, tounge, and hands, that leaves him flopping around on the deck chair and begging for mercy. It’s a lot like when he fiddles with different sound files to find the _perfect_ beat, except this drives Yuri fucking crazy.

Otabek’s currently got one finger inside, and his mouth wrapped around the head of Yuri’s cock. Then, as quickly as he began sucking again, he pulls off, and puffs bursts of cool air over Yuri’s wet and overstimulated cock.

Then, everything stills. Otabek’s mouth hovers over his cock. His finger stays inside, but does not move.

Yuri opens his mouth to speak but the words, harsh and annoyed never come out. Otabek’s brought him to the brink several times by now, but never once let him come. It feels like he’s been dunked in water, and wrung out, only to be dunked back in over, and over, and over again.

“It’s worth it,” Otabek assures him. “When it finally happens. Trust me.”

Yuri cocks his head at Otabek and shoots him a quizzical look. “What?” He literally _just_ took Otabek’s virginity. How the fuck would he know? Unless-

Otabek explains in a tone that’s calm and even, “sometimes, when you’re not around, I do this to myself.” And then Otabek’s touch returns. The now familiar, but still dreaded clamp around the base of his cock returns. Then, Otabek adds another finger inside. “Usually just with my dick though,” he adds as an afterthought. “Feels good though right?” And just then, Otabek rubs against his prostate, full on with both fingers.

Yuri tousles his head back and forth on the deck chair. He can feel the way his wet hair tangles and pulls against his scalp with the movements. He grinds into Otabek’s hand chasing the feeling as far as Otabek will let him, and then all too soon, Otabek’s pulling away. “Ah-fuck, Otabek fuck,” and he’s a garbled mess of begging and moaning. He can’t even say Otabek’s name properly. It just comes out in choppy syllables “Ota-“ followed by, “Bek, Beka..”

Yuri swears he can feel the exact moment that his soul leaves his body and he fucking dies, naked and with Otabek’s fingers buried in his ass by the Altin’s pool. It’s when Otabek lets go of the harsh grasp on the base of his cock, and rubs against his prostate harder than he’s done before. His touch is relentless, and his mouth returns to his cock. Before he knows what’s going on, the orgasm is being _ripped_ out of Yuri, and he’s coming so hard that he swears he smacks his head on the frame of the deck chair while he’s screaming Otabek’s name.

It takes a moment…or a few moments, or a lot of moments, Yuri isn’t really sure, but he knows that it takes awhile for him to come back down to earth. Otabek squeezes next to him and pulls him closer so that they’re both spread across two chairs.

Yuri feels Otabek’s dripping wet body next to him, the sting in his own ass, and the feeling of Otabek’s very hard cock pressed up against his ass.

“Um,” Otabek begins the question sheepishly. Yuri knows where it’s going already. “Do you think I could?”

“My ass and dick are fucking numb because you played with them so much, we don’t have lube, and you wanna fuck me?” Yuri growls.

Otabek doesn’t respond. He simply nibbles at Yuri’s ear and his neck. He rocks his cock in the cleft of Yuri’s ass, and waits for explicit approval or refusal.

“I fucking guess so,” Yuri says.

Otabek slides in surprisingly easily despite the fact that they have nothing but spit between them. It hurts so fucking bad, but in the best kind of way. Yuri grits his teeth and pushes back against Otabek, making sure that he’s seated fully inside.

Otabek whispers into Yuri’s ear, “I’ll go slow,” before gently biting down onto his earlobe. It’s _almost_ _worse_ than being pounded into.

Yuri can feel every twitch of Otabek’s cock, and every inch of every thrust. He’s already so overstimulated from Otabek’s treatment earlier that even the shallowest of thrusts makes him see stars. Not to mention, there’s the added friction and the stretch and the ache of Otabek’s cock.

It’s too much, and it makes little pinprick tears form at the corner of his eyes. Yuri threads his fingers into the latticed plastic of the deck chair. Although he can _only_ think about how it’s too much too soon, he can feel his body betraying everything that it feels. He’s hard again in no time.

Otabek grabs his hand, and pulls it free from the plastic of the chair. He thrusts in and out of Yuri steadily. He can hear the slap of their wet skin over the sound of the pool filter and the music. It’s absolutely filthy. Then, Otabek is playing with his cock again, and whispering to him softly, “I’m going to come, okay?”

And that’s all it takes for a second orgasm to be torn out of Yuri. He clenches around Otabek, and feels Otabek twitch, pulse, and empty inside. It’s almost painful, the way it seems to grab his whole body and slam him into Otabek.

Otabek stays buried in Yuri until his cock softens, and he slides out.

He whispers against the shell of Yuri’s ear, in a voice that’s too tender for someone who just tormented him so thoroughly, “I love you Yuri.”


	7. An Alibi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for dominant/top Yuri for NSFW Yuri Week 2k17

_Have you got a need for silence?_  
 _Have you got a friend to call on?_  
 _Have you got a friend to count on?_  
 _Have you got a friend to call your own?_  
  
_Have you got an alibi?_  
 _Have you got an alibi?_

Most of the time, Yuri knows exactly how it’s gonna be. Otabek is gonna cup his face real sweet and kiss him until time slows down, and his breath has been stolen away. Otabek is gonna keep kissing him long after that, until he’s keyed up and strung out from just the feeling of their lips pressed together. Then, Otabek will carefully undo each button. He’ll put his mouth everywhere. Only after Yuri’s so fucked up on the white hot drug that is Otabek, he’ll push inside of him and get him addicted to something stronger.

Yuri doesn’t mind that it usually goes like this at all. Otabek is the kind of person who is confident in what he wants, and knows exactly how to get it. It’s what attracted him to Otabek in the first place.

But every so often, something in Otabek’s artfully constructed demeanor slips ever so slightly to the left and out of place. The average person wouldn’t notice, but Yuri notices because he knows Otabek. He notices because he loves Otabek.

He notices the way that Otabek’s hands shake as they travel down his body. He notices the way that Otabek pulls back from a kiss, and traces the split in his own lip with his tongue.  He notices the way that Otabek leans into him when Yuri circles Otabek’s bruised skin with his fingertips. Otabek makes this caught-in-the-throat noise that makes his own knees weak when he digs his fingers into the black and purple skin.

Yuri really shouldn’t have. Like, he really, really shouldn’t have. Otabek was packing up his equipment. Yuri was half buzzed from the double vodka tonic he managed to snag from the bar, and half hard from watching Otabek work the crowd all night. It was so easy to shed his jacket as Otabek worked through his playlist. It was easy to tie his shirt into a knot around his waist. It was easy to snag holes in his fishnets as he danced, and it was easy to attract the attention of assholes that didn’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer.

But, Yuri really shouldn’t have thrown the first punch. Cause there were three of them and one of him, and he caught more punches than he landed. It’s just nobody fucking looks at him like that. Nobody calls him _that_ and gets away with it. In the end, he’s real lucky that Otabek’s got his back. Otabek charged in, threw his first swing, and Yuri could hear the guy’s jaw crack. The other two turned and went after Otabek, and Yuri might’ve screamed like a girl. Yuri decked one, but the other one got Otabek with a mean left hook.

Otabek’s gonna have quite the shiner in the morning. It’s okay though cause Yuri can feel this big ass bruise bubbling up on his jaw like a blister.

Yuri fucked up.  Yuri caused the skinned knuckles, the busted lip, and the bruise on his side. He had no choice but to take responsibility. He fists his hands into the longer part of Otabek’s hair, and tugs hard. He tilts Otabek’s head backwards deepening the kiss. “Sorry, Beka,” but he doesn’t let Otabek get a word in edgewise. He keeps kissing him; he keeps demanding more of him. When he does pull back, he applies blunt pressure with his teeth over the place where his lip is already fat.

Otabek whimpers, and goddamn if the sound doesn’t go straight to his dick.

Yuri pushes his knee between Otabek’s legs, and just like that a switch is turned over. Otabek is always real good at playing the bad boy, but it’s just that. Play. Otabek _will_ beat the shit out of anyone that so much as looks at Yuri the wrong way. Otabek _will_ suck him off in a dirty club bathroom. But, in the end, it is Yuri that’s racked up a dozen or more reckless driving tickets after Otabek has tossed him the keys. It is Yuri that routinely gets bounced from clubs. It is Yuri who has a collection of fake ID’s stapled to the wall at their favorite clubs. It is Yuri that takes the rap when they’re caught spray painting shit down at the old abandoned shopping center a few blocks away from grandpa’s house.

Yuri plunges his hands into the depths of the leather jacket and tugs down his shirt as far as it will go. He leaves no patch of skin untouched as he trails bites down Otabek’s chest. He snakes a hand underneath Otabek’s shirt, and rolls his nipples between his fingertips. He pinches them, lightly at first and then harder until Otabek’s breath catches and they have to stop kissing. His moves are frantic. He’s determined to markup Otabek just as much, if not more than those other fuckers. It’s simple. Otabek is his. Because of that, only he gets to knock that perfectly assembled and presented exterior aside.

“Yura,” there’s something pained and needy in his voice. Something that reminds him that Otabek needs something more than a quick fuck.

“Beka, what’s wrong?”

Yuri grazes his teeth across Otabek’s chest. The cool autumn air grows thick, oppressive, and stagnant between them. The darkened alleyway becomes too quiet for the city at night. Gone are the shouts and the cries of drunks and crazies. Gone are the indiscriminant shuffling noises from the shadows. The back door to the club is still open, but no one comes out to load equipment. Everything slows down like they’ve got all the time in the world.

“Why is it that…” his voice trails off.

Yuri pulls off of his skin and meets his gaze. In the faint glow of the streetlamp, he can see Otabek’s gaze shift from raw lust to one of silent and heavy contemplation. At best that kind of look makes his cock jump in his jeans. At worst, it makes him reconsider everything he is as a man.

“I’m always racing to meet you?”

Otabek’s words twist his stomach up in knots. It’s the kind of dark non sequitur that Otabek wields with a raw and dangerous power.

“Racing to meet you?” Yuri moves quickly. He leverages the knee between Otabek’s leg, to push him around. Once he’s turned over, and facing the wall, he pins his hands above his head.

He doesn’t miss the little, “ah-“ sound that he makes when he twists his arm a certain way. Not enough to hurt, but enough to test his body’s limits. Otabek always does this to him. Why shouldn’t he push Otabek in the same way?

“You make it sound like you can’t keep up.” He husks into his ear. “We both know that isn’t true.” Yuri nuzzles the shell of his ear with his lips, and then sinks his teeth into the lobe. “Unbutton your pants.”

Otabek complies. Yuri can hear the _ping_ of his belt buckle, and the rustle of his jeans. Otabek slings them low, exposing his underwear. He doesn’t pull those down right away, and so Yuri hooks his fingers in the waistband and pulls those down too.

“You’re missing the point.” Otabek’s voice sounds tired. If he’s going to talk like this, Yuri’s not sure he wants to hear it.

Yuri kneads the compact muscle of Otabek’s ass. He fumbles for a moment undoing his own belt buckle and getting his skin tight PVC leggings down around his hips. Frantically, he rubs his dick against the cleft of Otabek’s ass. “Maybe you haven’t even told me what kind of point you’re trying to make Altin.”

“You started without me,” Otabek’s voice hitches when he rubs across his hole, but doesn’t push inside. He wouldn’t do Otabek that way. Never. “You always do that. Charging in without me by your side.”

Yuri swear to god falls in love all over again. It’s last year in Barcelona, and Otabek’s surprise Christmas visit to St. Petersburg, and his sixteenth birthday in Paris all over again. Even though Otabek’s knees knock together whenever they hear a cop siren, Otabek’s shitty that he didn’t come get him first before he started busting ass?

Goddamn.

Yuri doesn’t say anything.

Otabek doesn’t need to be told anything. Otabek has spoken his mind, and could go for days now without uttering another word. So Yuri cups Otabek’s jaw, makes him crane his neck and kisses him. The kiss is barely a kiss at all. It’s clinking teeth, and an awkward swipe of his tongue across Otabek’s parted lips.

Yuri sinks to his knees, forgetting for a moment that he freed his own cock. He parts Otabek’s cheeks, and watches his ass twitch when it’s exposed to the cool night air.

Every so often, something in Otabek’s artfully constructed demeanor slips ever so slightly to the left, and out of place. The only way to fix it is to smash it up completely, and allow Otabek to try again another day. Maybe tomorrow they’ll go rocks at the glass windows in the old abandoned factory. Maybe the next day Otabek will sneak him into a club and order him vodka tonics til he can’t walk anymore.

For now, Yuri nibbles a raspberry colored mark on Otabek’s ass cheek and mumbles into the flesh, “love you Beka.”

He’s only done this a handful of times, but he can only assume that he’s learned from the very best. Otabek knows how to take him apart and put him back together again with his mouth. He’s come from it before. Just humping into the sheets and the pressure of Otabek’s tongue.

Yuri holds his breath, and tries to think of what Otabek would do. He wouldn’t dive in right away. He’d build up to something bigger, to something better. Yuri tries to do the same. He slides his fingers between Otabek’s legs and runs a single digit down the satiny skin of his balls. He flick his tongue across his hole, and pulls back again to watch him flutter and twitch.

“I’m here Beka.” It’s just rambling now, but Yuri does that. Handles the sweet talk for the both of them so that Otabek can save his words for when they’re most useful. He gets the dumbest fucking ideas when he’s love drunk on Otabek. “Let’s do this together, Beka. Let’s cum at the same time.”

Yuri darts his tongue over Otabek’s hole again. He tastes musky, and he smells musky, and he’s probably just a little bit more than self-conscious about having club funk all over him, but Yuri does too, so who gives a fuck?

Yuri switches from short experimental licks, to long bathing laps. He licks a wet trail from his sac to the crest of his tailbone. He digs his fingers into Otabek’s ass cheeks, and listens to the short dark grunts that he gets in response.

“Doing it together,” Otabek speaks through gritted teeth, which he always does when he’s trying to conceal the pleasure that ripples through his body. “Means teasing?”

Most of the time it’s like they both fuck the other the way they’d want to be fucked. Otabek is torturously slow, and meanders down Yuri’s body until he’s begging for release. Yuri pounds into Otabek, and soothes the hurt away later.

This time is different.

Yuri answers in kind with the soft graze of his teeth across Otabek’s satin skin. “You’re always making me wait Otabek.” Then, he spreads his cheeks wider, and plunges his tongue inside. Maybe a dark dirty alleyway isn’t the best place to eat out your boyfriend nice and romantic like, but goddamn, if he isn’t gonna try. “Maybe that’s why I usually rush in.”

Yuri can hear the rustle of leather as Otabek writhes against his touch and the hard stone wall. Otabek carries tension all throughout his body. When he finally starts to relax, when Yuri can slide his tongue in easily, well it makes him feel the warm hot glow of pride. When Yuri rubs up against his perineum roughly, and Otabek simply melts into the touch, pride tugs between his legs at his cock. Pride makes him feel like he cannot stop until he knows that he’s made Otabek feel just as good as he does whenever they do this.

He dives into Otabek over and over and over again. He pulls away only when Otabek makes a noise that sounds like a broken sob. It’s raw, and it’s vulnerable, and it sends shivers down his spine. “Wanna cum Beka?” He poses the question while he’s working a finger into his ass. Otabek is sloppy, wet and open. He accepts him easily even though he can’t remember the last time he did this for Otabek.

“Hm,” Otabek’s voice is firm, strong, and displays no hint of his prior unbridled declaration of need.

“Wanna touch yourself?” Yuri laps around his stretched out rim and works his finger deeper inside.

“No.”

Yuri stands up, and breathes hot and heavy into Otabek’s ear as he works in another finger. It’s here that he’s met with tension. Otabek’s body will bend, but only so far. “You sure?” He crooks his fingers just right, and Otabek clenches around him. It wouldn’t take long. Otabek never lasts long when they change things up like this. It’s like every ounce of control that he keeps in tight check whenever they fuck is ripped out from under him, and Yuri absolutely loves doing it. “Want me to touch you?” With his other hand he wraps his hand around Otabek’s cock and gives him a single firm pump. He spreads the pre-cum around the head of his cock and bites down on the lobe of his ear. “Hm Beka?”

“Not particularly,” Otabek’s tone is dry, which means that it teeters between annoyed and amused.

Otabek’s body tenses back up when he extracts his fingers. “Babe,” Yuri whispers into his ear. “So tense still.”

“Be less tense if you did what you promised,” Otabek explains simply. Yuri can hear it in his voice, and he can feel it in his body. He doesn’t need to be told. “Together Yura,” his words serve as a stern warning. Although Yuri can get talked into anything while they fuck, Otabek demands that he deliver on promises made.

Without a word, Yuri reaches into the pocket of Otabek’s jacket and digs around.

Then, without missing a beat, Otabek corrects, “other one.”

Yuri switches hands, and he finds a foil wrapped condom, rips the wrapper in two with his teeth, and rolls it down his cock.

Yuri looks at Otabek’s skinned fingers splayed wide. When they get back to Otabek’s flat, he’s going to wash off his hands and bandage them up later on. Afterwards, he’ll suck on Otabek’s cock like a lollipop and sit on his cock because after that, Otabek will be appropriately put back in place _._ But for now, he’s going to press onto he big ugly bruise he left on Otabek’s neck while he fucks inside. He’s going to love every single second of it too.

Otabek is so tight, and with each slow slide of his hips he feels like he’s gonna cum. “Fuck, Beka you’ve got to relax.”

Otabek looks back at him over his shoulder. His eyes are blown wide and wild. It’s the same look he gets when they’re on the bike. It’s the same look that he gets when he’s about to fuck him real hard. “Keep up Yura.”

“Asshole,” cause for a split second he thought maybe he was hurting Otabek with him tensed up so tight. Of fucking _course_ it’s the opposite. Yuri grabs onto his hips and pounds into him hard.

Otabek swears under his breath, he bites his already bruised lip hard. Yuri slides his bruised hands over Otabek’s on brick, and Yuri can’t help but want to extract every last noise, every last whimper out of Otabek. He’ll show him ‘keeping up.’

Yuri pulls almost all the way out, and slams back in going at an agonizing pace. He pistons his hips forward, and pounds into Otabek over and over again until his rigid hard body finally yields against him.

Otabek becomes malleable once again under his touch. He pushes back against his cock. He cranes his neck around and demands sloppy and open mouthed kisses. He bucks into Yuri’s hand, and then Yuri pulls back when he feels like Otabek’s getting too close to the edge.

Because they were doing this together, and Yuri’s finally found a rhythm. Finally found a way to hold his own against the strong and unstoppable force that is Otabek.

“Yuri,” Otabek whines. Hs voice is unusually pitchy, loud. As addictive as it is to wind Otabek up, Yuri suddenly becomes hyperaware that they’re very exposed…They did just beat up three assholes. “Yura.”

Yuri clamps his hand over Otabek’s mouth. He put his riding gloves on, and he knows just how much Otabek loves the taste of leather. Yuri pounds into him hard, giving them both exactly what they want.

“Together Beka,” Yuri teases as he nuzzles into his neck. Then, he releases his vice grip on Otabek once more and jerks him off at a brutal pace.  

Otabek tightens around him as he comes. Yuri buries himself deep inside of Otabek and doesn’t stop pumping his cock until he’s completely milked dry. Fuck this stupid fucking condom. He wants to cum deep inside of Otabek, and have Otabek have to deal with leaking on the bike for once in his goddamn life. Yuri’s sure as shit intimately familiar with that feeling.

Yuri’s tearing off the condom and trying to stuff his dick back into his pants when Otabek grabs him around the middle and plants a soft kiss on the mouth. Just like that, everything is reset between them. Otabek’s back to being a badass in a black leather jacket. Yuri’s his blonde bitch on the back of the bike. “Thanks for waiting for me Plisetsky.”

They’ve just finished strapping equipment onto the rear fender of the bike when they both notice the red sirens strobe down the alley in a slow crawl. Otabek goes white as a sheet, but Yuri thinks it could be worse. At least they finished fucking first.  

Otabek squeezes his hand, and he freezes in place. In an instant, they lock eyes, look at the bike, and it’s like they just _know._

Otabek gets the bike’s engine to turn over on the first try. Yuri clamors onto the back, and Otabek’s tearing out of the alley way doing at least sixty. Yuri cranes his neck to look back, but they’re too far gone to even see the cops.  

 


	8. The Giant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For best results, listen to The Giant by The The in a strange and disorienting liminal space

Otabek lost his virginity at a show in Astana. His cousin called, he asked his mom for some money, and he was on the next flight. The thing is, he doesn’t even remember the band. He remembers the guy had a shirt with the flower on it from the Violator album. He remembers he’d played that album so many times, his mother begged him to stop or wait until she was at work. He remembers that the man he lost it to had a full beard, and it scratched his lips when they awkwardly bumped mouths in the bathroom while his cousin tried to hit on girls. 

Otabek came back to Almaty with a neck full of hickeys. Mom didn’t let him go out much after that. Curfew, whatever. Didn’t stop him. He went to an all-boys school for fuck sake. In no time flat, Otabek was tangling his fingers in pretty boy’s hair and telling them there was no way a teacher was going to come in. By the time he left for America, his heart didn’t even skip a beat when he cut class and ducked into the bathroom.  If no one at school wanted to fuck around that day, he just waited in the locker room until someone on the college hockey team cruised him. In Canada, it was even easier. His host parents gave him the best welcome gift ever: a blue eyed boy named JJ that sucked his cock like it was the best thing in the world. 

But here’s the thing. It all got real old real quick. After a while, he didn’t wanna have to calm down another freshman before they snuck into the bathroom just to get a blow job. After awhile, the excitement of being fucked real hard in the locker room faded way to a dull ache, and he already had enough aches from training. Enough time passed by and JJ got a girlfriend. He understood that there  _ had _ to be more than this, but how? 

* * *

Yuri doesn’t exactly know what counts as losing his virginity. When he was twelve, he found this magazine tucked up underneath the lid to the dumpster of his apartment complex. It had all sorts of guys in it fucking: hairy guys, guys with shaved heads, guys with dicks the size of his forearm. Yuri jammed an unlubed finger up his ass that night after he told everyone he was going to bed. It felt awful, but it didn’t prevent him from doing it again. At least the next time was with lotion.

When he was thirteen, he went to a regional competition in Sochi. There, an older boy who was about to make his junior debut grabbed him in the locker room and rubbed his dick between his asscheeks until he came. Yuri struggled, and tried to hit him, and told him to fuck off, because that’s what you’re supposed to do when someone just grabs your dick. It’s kind of hard to keep up the illusion when you cum into the guy’s hand. 

Not long after that, Yuri started going to the sauna with the rest of the athletes on Yakov’s team. Much like they had reserved time at rink, the sauna was reserved special time just reserved for them. At first, no one would actually touch him. He was secluded to jerking off up on the second row of benches.Then, they all seemed to stop caring that he was fourteen. He loved the feeling of cock sliding in and out of him, and there was never a short supply of anyone there who was willing to give it to him. 

But, to him it felt like a compulsion. An addiction. It made him feel like men who sat down at the corner store and bought beer and lotto even though they’d wasted their whole damn lives on beer and lotto. He was tired of hiding the marks on his body from grandpa. He was tired of pretending to be somebody’s  _ good boy _ wet dream fantasy. He was tired of lying through his teeth and saying that it was his first time, even when he  _ knows  _ the person that’s about to fuck him watched him get fucked last time. He was tired, but he also  _ couldn’t stop. _

* * *

After the exhibition skate in Barcelona Otabek shreds what’s left of Yuri’s shirt in the hotel elevator, picks him up, and carries him over his shoulder down the corridor. Let the world know. He’s searched far, and he’s searched wide, and he has it now: something, no someone better. He has someone who makes him feel like he  _ almost  _ understands all of his favorite love songs. He wants to make him a mixtape. He wants to share his earbuds with him and listen to  _ Electric Warrior _ after a long drive in the countryside on the bike.  

Their kisses are sloppy and open mouthed. Immediately, he thinks of the first year students that he has to reassure in one breath,“no we won’t get caught”, and in the next breath, “be quiet.” Their teeth clink together, and Yuri takes his lip between his teeth and bites down hard. It’s like every quick and dirty fuck he’s had with a bottle service waiter. It’s like the blonde in Milan, and the blonde in Prague, and the Blonde in Tokyo, but this time it’s real. It’s everything he’s ever wanted, and he’s gotta slow it down. Take a breath. Remember where he is, and who he’s with. Remember why he’s here. 

Otabek gets Yuri naked, and then he gets him bent over his knee. He plunges two fingers into his ass. It’s pure filth that emerges from Yuri’s mouth, and in that moment Otabek belongs to him completely. “Oh-Beka, you’re so fucking good. Right fu-uking there.” 

Yuri knows what he wants, and so Otabek deliberately pulls away. He traces Yuri’s rim with the pad of his thumb, and watches the way the skin catches and twitches...He’s not Yuri’s first. 

“Are you gonna fuck me or not asshole?” Yuri grinds into him impatiently. “Or is this some shitty way of telling me you want me to knock you over and ride you.” 

Otabek flips their positions so that Yuri is on his stomach on the bed. Then, he pulls Yuri’s hips upward so that he’s resting on his knees. He gives no warning, just traces a long stripe from Yuri’s balls to his hole. Of course, he tightens his grip on Yuri’s hips. Otabek’s going to show him something new, even if he’s not Yuri’s first. 

* * *

Otabek is a lot like him. He’s fucked around a lot and knows what he wants. He pushes Yuri’s body around in an authoritative  kind of way that makes his asshole twitch. He doesn’t fucking ask if he’s his first. He doesn’t try to sweet talk him into not using a condom, and it’s so fucking nice really. 

After he’s done eating his ass, Otabek has Yuri stand with his back pressed to the window. He stretches his leg up like they’re in ballet lessons. Then, he rests his foot on Otabek’s shoulder. 

Otabek’s cock burns when he pushes it in. It’s fucking huge after all. But for whatever reason, Otabek goes slow even though he’s stretched out and sloppy. Which would be fine. Except. In this position, they kind of, almost, sort of, have to look at each other. 

Otabek tries to pound into him really fast, but Yuri’s leg wedged between them slows them down. Otabek goes slow, and it’s just so  _ different _ from every single fuck he’s ever had. He  _ feels _ something when Otabek takes his hands above his head and pins them to the wall. He  _ feels _ something when Otabek whispers into his ear. Cause it’s not meaningless shit like “ _ Baby,”  _ or “ _ Sweetheart,”  _  or “ _ Kitten,”  _ it’s something so fucking awkward and rough around the edges that it has to be real, “I like you.” 

God that’s like the worst thing he’s ever been told when he’s been getting fucked. Yuri screws his eyes shut, and pinches his mouth firm. Desperately he tries to blink back the tears, and rub his face into his hair in a poor attempt to rub them away. He hopes that Otabek will just keep fucking him, but he doesn’t. “Yuri what’s wrong?” and then Otabek is brushing a tear from his eye. 

“Fucking nothing.” 

“It can’t be nothing.” Otabek’s dick stills inside of him which is somehow worse. Yuri can feel his cock twitch. Otabek looks at him with the kind of soft concern he didn’t know you could have when you were balls deep inside someone.  Fuck. 

“Trust me,” Yuri’s voice cracks. It’s really fucking nothing okay? 

* * *

Otabek isn’t quite sure what to  _ do _ with Yuri after Barcelona. He’s never slept with the same person twice, and usually if they cry he asks them to leave. He doesn’t order them diet cherry coke from room service, or dry his tears with his Fendi pocket square. 

After they part ways in Barcelona, he knows that he wants to be friends. He wants to try to have sex again. He wants to tell Yuri that whatever it is, it’s fine. He wants to tell him that he knows exactly how he feels, and that he’s hoping he can make the feeling stop if he’s got Yuri by his side. Except every time he tries to type it out he hits the delete button. Every time he almost wants to say it over Skype, the call gets conveniently “disconnected” via Otabek hitting reset on the router underneath the desk with his big toe. 

All he knows is that he’s got to fuck it out of his system before Worlds. He does his very best. He’s at his favorite cruising spot at the city in the café north of the tacky mini-Eiffel tower that blights the city skyline every night. He’s at the bath house, or the bar across the street from the bath house on the weekends. No matter how many people he takes home, he can’t fucking shake it. 

Suddenly, Otabek feels like he’s fourteen again. Like he’s on a domestic flight from Astana to Almaty and he can’t stop fidgeting in the seat because his asshole hurts so bad. Every fuck puts him on display again. It feels like when he threw out his ruined underwear from that weekend in Astana, and mother commented dryly over breakfast, “I bought you some new clothes. They’re on your bed,” and they both knew exactly what she was fucking talking about. 

* * *

Victor and Yuri stop fucking around after Onsen on ice. Well, kind of. Fucking is not okay. Jerking off and watching each other is fine. Jerking off with Katsudon there too….even better. Except, he spends Christmas and New Year in Japan, and everything just feels fucked. When they’re all sitting on the low benches at the indoor baths washing their hair Victor starts tugging on Yuuri’s dick right in front of him, but he doesn’t join in. 

It makes his stomach sick. Legitimately sick, in the kind of guilty sourness that he’s only experienced after a loss. Yuri gets up, and the sound of the stool scraping across the tile floors interrupts everything. 

“Yurio?” He doesn’t respond, but he can feel both of them stare at him as he stomps out of the bath. 

Hasetsu has shit cruising spots. He usually makes a day of going to the malls in Fukuoka with the dumbass couple, and then he makes sure to get plenty of time in the men’s bathroom. Except, he doesn’t this time. Instead, he holes up in a Taito station like a fucking kid and pumps 100 yen coins into the machines until his thumbs hurt from jamming the buttons on UFO catchers. 

What the fuck is wrong with him? 

His ears get all fucking hot whenever he and Otabek Skype, and it’s not just because he wants to whip out his cock and watch Otabek do the same. He always asks Otabek, “What clubs are you playing at?” and “what did you do at the rink today?” and he’s always fucking interested in whatever the answer is. 

Yesterday Otabek fucking went on some tangent about mixing software, and before Yuri even remembered to tell him that was fucking boring as fuck, thirty minutes had elapsed. 

He can only hope Otabek wants to fuck at Worlds. He hasn’t fucked anyone since they saw each other at the GPF, and for him that’s a really long time. 

* * *

Normally, Otabek wouldn’t think a thing of it. He’d unzip his jeans, take his dick up over the waistband, and press it against whatever soft pair of lips he had in his hotel room. Except, there’s something about the way that Yuri says it when he drops to his knees and opens his mouth, “god, you have no fucking idea how much I wanted to do this.” Yuri takes all of him into his mouth at once, and then comes off with a loud pop. “Can I tell you something stupid? Nah, I shouldn’t,” and then he goes back to sucking his cock like it’s one of the cherry flavored lollipops he purchased at 7/11 at 1:30 in the morning. 

“Tell me.” Otabek says threading his fingers into Yuri’s hair. It’s getting longer. He’s getting taller. He didn’t know they could do that, suck your cock and change as people. 

“I guess I’ve been busy,” he can see the faint dust of a blush across Yuri’s cheeks. “Haven’t fucked anyone since you in Barcelona.” 

Otabek knows that kind of statement is supposed to make him rock hard and ready to fuck. Except, the blood in his veins turns icy cold.  In an instant he’s thinking about just how many people he’s fucked between Barcelona and Helsinki. He’s thinking about how Yuri deserved better than that. 

Yet, Otabek is used to the feeling of unease in this situation. He’s used to the feeling of going through the motions, just to get someone to go away….Except, he doesn’t want Yuri to go away, and he doesn’t want to just go through the motions. 

Yuri pushes him down onto the mattress this time, and rides his cock relentlessly until he’s soft, and he slides out. 

“You came?” Yuri asks after Otabek takes him into his hand and jerks him off roughly. 

“Yeah,” Otabek lies through his teeth while he makes a big show of tying off the empty condom.

* * *

“Okay,” Yuri licks his lips, and pulls his face into a grin. Then, he presses his sweat slicked forehead against Otabek’s. They’ve got the music turned on as loud as they can without having the front desk called on them. They’ve got their dicks out and in each other’s hands. Everything just seems a lot simpler when he’s got something old school blasting through his Bluetooth speaker. “What the fuck is wrong with us?” 

Otabek pulls Yuri’s foreskin down over the head of his cock, and then twists his hand back upward, just the way that he  _ knows _ that he likes. “What do you mean?” Otabek slots his mouth over Yuri’s parted lips. He breathes deeply into the kiss with every intent to take Yuri’s breath away. He knows what comes next. He can’t assume that it’s good. “What’s wrong with us?” he repeats when they part. His lips are still brushed against Yuri’s, and he doesn’t want this to end. Not yet. 

“Um,” Yuri laughs nervously, and then latches onto his neck. Otabek gasps in welcoming the big purple bruise that he knows that Yuri leaves in his wake. “I fuckin started crying like a little bitch when you said you  _ liked me _ .” 

Yuri removes his hand from Otabek’s cock for a moment to lick his palm. Then, his hand is back on his dick, warm, wet, and firm. Only Yuri Plisetsky could make a hand job feel like this. “You got fuckin soft when I said I didn’t fuck anybody else,” and as if on cue, Yuri’s swift flicks of the wrist pause. He holds Otabek firm in a tight circle of his ring and forefinger keeping Otabek trapped in his grasp and painfully hard. “Don’t fuckin deny it Otabek. I know what fucking happened.” 

Yuri’s statement makes Otabek feel as if Yuri’s peeled back flesh, bone, and a thousand little invisible layers. Distrust, fear, and anger are all laid bare for Yuri, and he hates the feeling.  It’s a shame that Yuri makes him feel this way, because he certainly loves every other thing about having Yuri Plisetsky in his bed. He lets go of Yuri’s cock, and moves for the lube as fast as he can. 

Doesn’t stop Yuri from complaining, “you can’t fix this with your cock asshole.” 

Yeah. He can. Otabek gets on top and pushes Yuri’s legs up towards his chest. When he thrusts into Yuri he makes sure it’s nice and it’s slow. It’s designed to make him feel just as scraped raw and exposed as he feels. “I can’t tell you Plisetsky.” Now it’s his turn to push his sweat damp hair away from his face and press his forehead to Yuri’s. It’s his turn to mash their noses together until somebody has enough sense to move to the side so they can properly kiss. “I can’t tell you all the things that are wrong with me,” he says in between long haggard breaths. He thrusts into Yuri greedily, and chases the feeling of Yuri clenching down on him to the very end of the line. So that he’s pushed all the way in and can’t thrust against him any further. 

“I don’t care,” Yuri hooks his legs around Otabek’s middle, and draws him in closer. They can’t even fuck into each other properly now. The two of them are just one big mess of limbs, and cock, and sticky skin. They rut against each other, but there’s no leverage to be found. His whole body throbs with ache and frustration, but where his cock is buried into Yuri throbs for release. “Don’t you fuckin get it? I’m just like you. Maybe worse.” 

Otabek can feel himself cumming. It’s ripped out from beneath his feet and thrust onto Yuri with an unmatched force. This time it’s Yuri that’s brushing a knuckle underneath his eye. This time it’s Yuri that wipes away his tears. He’s not stupid enough to ask, “what’s wrong?” Instead, he blindly, stupidly accepts all of it. 

“It’s scary,” Otabek notes dryly when their hands are threaded together. 

“So fucking scary,” Yuri agrees, giving him a soft squeeze. 

 

 


End file.
